CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 


CHRISTOPHER   LAIRD 


BY 


SIDNEY  McCALL 

Author  of  "Truth  Dexter,"  "The  Breath  of  the  Gods,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1919 


COPTEIGHT,   1919 

By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


TO 
LAURANCE  HARVEY  McNEILL, 

THE  DEAR  BROTHER  WHO,  IN  CHILDHOOD, 

ROAMED  THE  SOUTHERN  WOODS 

WITH  ME 


4 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   PAINTEB'S   BALD 1 

II.   THE  TBANSPLANTING 11 

III.  CHBIS  SEES  HALLONQUIST  HATT.  ....  19 

IV.  MABY  BASING 25 

V.   A  STUDY  OF  COCOONS 35 

VI.   THE  GREAT  FIBE 43 

VII.   THE  PBOPHECY 57 

VIII.   DABK  WATERS 68 

IX.   HABD  TIMES  AND  HABDWOOD  IN  DXJNBOBIN  .       .  78 

X.   THE  LOOPHOLE 87 

XI.    KART.    TBENHAM         .                 99 

XII.   THE  ICY  HEABT 109 

XIII.  CHBIS  TBIES  TO  TELL  His  SECBET       .       .       .  121 

XIV.  Miss   LIZZY   LYCOSA 131 

XV.   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE 139 

XVI.   WHAT  LETTY  WBOTE  AT  SCHOOL  ...  149 
XVII.   SOPHIE  WALKS  THE  FENCE     .       <       .       .       .154 

XVIII.    WHIRLPOOLS 163 

XIX.   "  Sis  "  KICKS  UP  SAND 173 

XX.   A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  TIMBERS 186 

XXI.    LEEZEB'S  DAUGHTEB 195 

XXII.   THE  ULTIMATUM .  206 

XXIII.  THE  RECONCILIATION 218 

XXIV.  SOPHIE'S   DEPABTUBE 222 

XXV.    THE  HUBBYING  YEAB 229 

XXVI.   THE  LONELY  HEABTH  233 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAQB 

XXVII.  A  WEDDING  AND  A  JOURNEY  .       .       .       .       .     238 

XXVIII.   THE  RETURN  OF  THE  LION 243 

XXIX.  CHBIS  Is  "GOAEDED"      .       .       .       .       .       .250 

XXX.  A  STAB  IN  THE  EAST      .       .       .       .              .258 

XXXI.   BLESSING 267 

XXXII.   THE  NEW  YOBKEBS .276 

XXXIII.  THE  BUILDEBS .282 

XXXIV.  A  CHAPTER  IN  NEBVES 268 

XXXV.  APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916   .       .       .       .       .       .299 

XXXVI.  How  TBENHAM  PAID  His  DEBTS   .       .       .        .310 

XXXVII.  THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET  .       .       .       -.       .317 

XXXVIII.   THE  ACOBN  IN  ITS  CUP 326 

XXXIX.  A  WEDDING  JOUBNEY                                                333 


CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 


CHAPTER  I 


ETTLE  Dunrobin  lay  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
Rydal;  a  grey  town  in  winter,  a  fresh  vivid 
green  one  in  spring  because  of  its  dense 
growth  of  shade  trees. 

At  three  sides  of  it  spread  chequered  patches  of 
farm-lands,  and  long,  wavering  roads  of  red  clay 
extended  the  short  city  streets  until  each  one  was 
lost  in  a  forest  that  climbed  and  surmounted  a 
horseshoe  of  low,  rolling  hills.  As  a  lone  pearl 
belongs  to  its  concave,  so  Dunrobin  belonged  to  its 
valley. 

Across  the  clear  stream,  to  the  west,  there  was 
scant  room  for  farming.  The  foothills  came  close 
to  the  water,  and,  rising  at  once,  ran  back  lifting 
blue  crest  to  one  thinner  and  bluer,  until  they 
had  gained  the  remoteness — and  title — of  mount- 
ains. 

On  the  slope  of  the  dominant  peak,  "  Painter's 
Bald,"  so  called  from  the  nickname  the  settlers  had 
given  the  prevalent  panthers,  stood  a  log-cabin  built 

l 


by  a  Scotsman,  Abednego  Laird.  Rude  board  wings 
had  been  added  to  shelter  Abednego's  growing 
family,  with  a  front  porch  and  back,  and  various 
outbuildings  for  "  critters  "  later  on.  And  Lairds 
lived  there  still. 

In  this  generation  of  Lairds,  the  family  was 
typical.  The  father,  "  old  man  Laird,"  as  at  forty 
he  began  to  be  called,  worked  only  when  he  could 
not  avoid  it.  The  profits  derived  from  his  corn,  pigs 
and  sheep  were  spent,  not  on  his  home,  but  down 
"  to  Bat's  Cave,"  where  Jed  Crozier  was  running  a 
"  moonshine." 

Laird's  wife,  a  feeble,  protesting  victim  of  chronic 
"  neuralgy,"  long  since  had  lost  interest  in  all  but 
her  snuff-stick,  and  the  constant  compaints  of  her 
ailments.  The  household  affairs  shifted,  little  by 
little,  to  the  shoulders  of  Ossie,  her  eldest  born. 
The  second  girl,  Leezer,  chanced  by  one  of  those 
freaks  of  old  families  to  be  born  an  exquisite  beauty. 

To  the  dull  and  dreary  home,  Leezer  grew  to  be 
like  the  flower  in  a  vase  that  lights  up  a  desolate 
chamber,  a  touch  of  blue  ribbon,  relieving  the  drab- 
ness  of  homespun,  a  rift  in  grey  clouds  or  mist. 
By  a  tacit  agreement,  never  hinted  in  words,  the 
overworked  Ossie  connived  with  her  mother,  that 
the  younger  sister  should  be  spared  most  of  the 
cooking  and  scouring.  Leezer  swept  sometimes, 
and  sang,  and  did  much  of  the  sewing,  but  her 
slim  hands  were  smooth  as  a  young  tulip-poplar 
leaf. 


PAINTER'S  BALD  3 

There  was  a  third  child,  a  boy  named  Chris- 
topher, a  heavy  and  amiable  being,  with  a  large 
head  that  seemed  to  be  thatched  with  dry  corn- 
shucks,  and  round  innocent  orbs  the  colour  of  blue 
mountain  skies. 

Mr.  Laird  was  not  proud  of  his  son.  "  Hain't 
got  as  much  sense  in  his  hull  corn-fed  body  as 
Ossie  has  got  in  one  toe." 

At  this  statement,  the  reclining  Mrs.  Laird  lifted 
up  the  old  stocking  now  bound  around  a  particu- 
larly trying  attack  of  neuralgy. 

"  How  come  you  spen'  ha'sh  words  like  them  on 
yo'  son,  Amos  Laird?  "  she  demanded.  "  He's  as 
kine-hearted  a  chile  as  ever  dug  sassafras-root  fer 
his  po'  suff'rin'  Maw's  tea,  an'  I  loves  him.  Mebbe 
he  hain't  got  the  peartness  of  Ossie,  or  the  bubblin' 
sunshine  of  Leezer.  And  hit  mebbe,  likewise," 
she  went  on  with  deeper  intention,  her  one  keen, 
grey,  uncovered  eye  impaling  her  husband,  "  that 
he  hain't  got  all  the  sense  his  Paw  mought  hev  had, 
efn  the  devil  in  Bat's  Cave  hadn't  grabbed  him. 
But  Chris  is  willin'  an'  good  as  a  angel,  an'  I  spit 
ye  outen  my  mouth,  Amos  Laird,"  she  continued  on 
a  shrill  note  of  pain,  "  fer  shamin'  yo'  own  flesh 
an'  blood  as  ye's  doin'." 

Ossie  was  just  seventeen  when  the  degenerate 
"  Paw  "  came  reeling  and  stumbling  home  late  one 
night  through  the  dark  dripping  bushes,  his  jeans 
shirt  as  wet  and  as  dripping. 

There  had  been,  at  Bat's  Cave,  some  sort  of  a 


4      ,  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  rookus."  "  Shoots "  had  spat  out  from  the 
laurels,  and  Laird  was  now  bringing  home,  along 
with  his  last  drunken  frolic,  a  bullet  which  was 
to  end  his  profitless  life. 

The  month  was  November.  All  day  long  ghostly 
clouds  of  white  mist  had  boiled  up  from  the  valleys, 
had  wound  among  the  tree-stems  and  clung  to  the 
interlaced  branches.  As  the  dying  man  lay  on  his 
rope-bed  and  harsh  creaking  mattress  of  straw, 
the  hickories  and  oaks,  meeting  over  the  cabin  in 
the  darkness  where  the  chill  night  congealed 
moisture  drop  by  drop  on  the  broad  shaking  leaves, 
sent  down  a  soft,  mocking  patter. 

"  Ossie — gal, — lean  closter, — closter  yit, — so's 
you  kin  make  out  to  hear  what  I'm  sayin'," 
gasped  the  sick  man,  and  groaned  with  the 
effort. 

"  Now,  Paw,"  urged  the  frightened  girl  gently, 
"  hit's  plumb  foolish  f er  you  to  spen'  words  while 
you's  hurtin'.  Jes1  bide  thar  in  yo'  bed,  untwell 
Chris  kin  git  back  with  the  doctor.  Chris  is  ridin' 
now — hard.  He  went  bar'back  on  Esau,  an'  tooken 
the  short  trail  by  the  mill.  He'll  git  back  here  to 
we-uns  fo'  we  know  hit.  Jes'  you  try  to  bide  quiet- 
like,  Paw." 

"  I'm  passin'  out  now,  Ossie  gal,"  said  the  dying 
man  solemnly.  "  When  Chris  an'  ole  Esau  gits 
back,  I'll  be  flitted." 

Amos's  wife,  crouching  near,  thrust  the  end  of 
the  bright  patchwork  quilt  in  her  mouth,  partially 


PAINTER'S  BALD  5 

stifling  a  wail,  while  the  shivering  Leezer,  beside 
her,  broke  into  terrified  tears. 

"  Shoo  them  two  snivellin'  females  outen  here," 
commanded  the  invalid  fretfully.  "  I  cain't  talk 
with  a  couple  o'  squinch-owls  a-screechin'.  You're 
the  onliest  one  in  the  hull  dad-burned  outfit  wuth 
talkin'  to  nohow." 

When  Ossie  re-entered  the  room,  the  fast-glazing 
eyes  on  the  bed  fixed  upon  her  own  with  desperate 
intentness. 

"  Hit'll  all  be  on  you,  my  po'  gal,"  Laird  said 
with  the  hint  of  a  sob  in  his  throat.  "  You'll  hev  to 
take  charge  of  the  hull  kit  an'  bilin'.  The  ole  place 
is  run  down, — thanks  to  Crozier, — an'  you  won't 
find  the  care  of  hit  easy.  But  you  allays  is  had 
all  the  spunk  of  a  wild  mountain-cat  an'  the  sense 
of  our  ole  plough-horse,  Esau.  You  kin  do  hit 
if  enny  one  kin.  Try  to  keep  the  ole  home  to- 
gether as  long,  ennyhow,  as  yo'  Maw  keeps  on 
livin' ;  an'  I  charge  you  to  do  yo'  plumb  best  by  yo' 
pritty  young  sister  an'  Chris." 

"  Po'  Chris — my  po'  no-count  Chris,"  he  repeated, 
letting  his  tired  voice  pause  on  the  name.  "  He 
won't  be  enny  great  punkins  to  help  ye,  but  he'll 
lay  on  his  belly  out  thar  in  the  sun,  watchin' 
flowers  an'  bugs,  whilst  the  sheep  grazes  near 
him.  He'll  feed  the  hawgs  too, — an'  all  critters. 
He's  a  kine-hearted  chile,  ez  his  Maw  says. 
Yas, — Chris  he'll  be  layin'  out  thar  on  the  hill- 
side. 


6  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Ossie, — Ossie !  "  the  man  screamed  with  his 
first  awful  touch  of  death's  coldness,  "  I  cain't 
leave  the  sun  an'  the  uplands.  They  is  waitin'  fer 
me  out  tliar  yit, — they  smells  good  in  my  nost'ils, 
— I  want  to  see  sunlight  onct  more. 

"  But  thar, — thar,"  he  sobbed,  sinking  again 
to  his  pillow.  "  Ain't  no  uset  ter  honin'.  Don't 
you  cry  so  pitiful,  darter.  I  done  brought  this 
black  death  on  myse'f, — damn  that  hell-brewin' 
scoun'el  Jed  Crozier.  Now  I'm  goin'  to  sleep. 
I'm  took  powerful  with  longin'  to  sleep,  all  of  a 
suddint;  an'  I  ain't  aimin'  to  wake  up  no  mo'. 
Good-bye,  darter, — you  bin  better  to  me  an'  yo' 
po'  washed-out  Maw  than  either  one  of  we-uns 
deserves.  You  tell  Chris, — ez  my  las'  charge  to 

him "  A  spasm  of  agony  caught  the  words 

from  his  lips,  and  the  grey  face  grew  even  more 
ghastly. 

"  Paw, — Paw!  "  pleaded  the  girl,  leaning  over 
and  clutching  both  shoulders.  "  Don't  sleep  yit. 
You  mus'  finish  speakin'.  You  said  to  tell 
Chris " 

"  Yes,  I  rekerlit  now,"  moaned  the  father.  "  You 
tell  Chris  to  keep  fur  away  fum  that  still, — hit's 
black  death  an'  disgrace  what's  brewed  thar." 

"  I'll  pass  them  words ;  an',  O  Paw, — O  Paw, — my 
ole  Pappy, — don't  you  leave  me  so  soon !  Don't  go 
leave  me  alone  in  this  dwellin' — I  am  only  seven- 
teen. O  Paw,  open  yo'  eyes, — smile  todes  me. 
It's  Ossie." 


PAINTEK'S  BALD  7 

But  Paw  was  already  adventuring  along  a  new 
trail  that  leads  over  the  one  great  divide. 

Ossie  Laird  was  just  twenty-four  years  old  and 
looked  forty,  when  one  cloudy  morning — a  day 
when  the  sky  seemed  a  floor  of  impalpable  greyness 
through  which  light  was  diffused  with  no  hint  of 
the  actual  sun — a  young  hunter  from  down  in  the 
valley  found  his  way  to  the  log-cabin  door.  Ossie 
was  finishing  her  sweeping.  She  heard  the  quick, 
unusual  footsteps  and,  turning,  ran  forward.  Her 
head  was  bound  up  in  an  old  scrap  of  red  calico, 
to  keep  out  the  dust,  and  her  grey  gingham  sleeves 
were  rolled  high  over  elbows  that  looked  like  the 
jointing  of  twigs. 

"I'm  James  Gaither  from  Dunrobin,"  said  the 
stranger,  removing  his  cap.  "  I  was  hunting  up  here 
with  some  comrades,  and  got  lost.  Can  you  direct 
me  to  the  best  and  shortest  road  to  the  city?  " 

Ossie  looked  into  pleasant  brown  eyes.  She  saw 
a  white  brow,  almost  as  fair  and  smooth  as 
Leezer's,  a  long  delicate  nose,  and  lips  rather  thin, 
parting  now  over  frail  blue-white  teeth. 

The  girl's  heart  began  to  beat  wildly.  She  had 
never  seen  such  a  being  before, — except  in  pictures. 

"  Hit's  a  powerful  long  trail  back  to  the  low- 
kentry,"  she  stammered  at  last.  Then  the  quick 
genuine  hospitality  of  all  mountain  homes  came  to 
her  rescue.  "  You  step  right  in  here.  Was  you 
lost  all  night  long?  " 


8  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  All  night  long.  I  slept  on  the  hillside.  I 
must  apologize,"  he  smiled,  "  for  my  untidy  ap- 
pearance." 

"  Lands'  sake !  Then  you  ain't  had  a  mite  o' 
breakfast?"  * 

Gaither's  rueful  expression  was  sufficient  reply. 

"  You  keep  on  right  back  thar  to  my  kitchen," 
Ossie  commanded.  "  I'll  cook  you  a  small  mess  o' 
vittles  in  two  shakes." 

"  But  really,"  the  young  man  protested,  moving 
hopefully  the  while  to  where  she  pointed.  "  I 
cannot  allow  you  to  take  so  much  trouble." 

"  Ain't  no  buts  in  these  parts,"  threw  back 
Ossie  almost  gaily,  "  when  a  he-critter  needs  to  be 
fed." 

They  moved  through  the  main  room,  and  just 
at  the  end  stepped  down,  by  one  short  slanting 
tread,  to  the  kitchen. 

Gaither  saw  no  stove  and  no  preparations  for 
cooking,  except  that  in  the  wide  stone-set  fire- 
place hung  a  crane.  Pots  and  pans  stood  along 
the  mantelshelf,  and  depended  by  nails  from  each 
side  of  the  grate.  Overhead,  there  were  festoons 
of  herbs,  beans  in  clustering  pods,  and  vivid 
chaplets  of  peppers.  Hams  and  bacon  were  swung 
side  by  side  with  bundles  of  drying  tobacco  and 
small  sheaves  of  bright  yellow  corn. 

At  first  the  place  had  seemed  empty.  Then  he 
heard  the  rustle  of  cloth  from  an  alcove,  and  a 
girlish  voice  cried, — a  voice  perfect,  and  thrush- 


PAINTER'S  BALD  9 

like  in  clearness:  "Who  you  totin'  in,  Sister? 
Hit  can't  be  brother  Chris  at  this  time  o'  day." 

"  No,  hit  ain't  Chris.  Hit's  a  furriner," — a  shy 
side-look  flung  around,  as  she  spoke,  toward  the 
stranger.  "  He  'lows  ez  he  lost  his  trail  back  to 
the  city,  an'  I'm  aimin'  to  cook  him  some  vittles. 
You  lay  down  that  sewin'  o'  yourn,  an'  come  set 
his  place  at  the  table." 

Leezer  flung  the  work  down.  At  one  spring  she 
was  out  into  the  open,  her  blue,  curious  eyes  on 
their  guest. 

James  Gaither  had  turned  the  same  pleasant, 
casual  smile  he  was  still  conserving  for  Ossie, — 
when  he  and  the  younger  girl  came  face  to  face. 

The  man's  smile  died.  A  quick  look  of  wonder 
distended  his  pupils ;  he  caught  in  one  long  breath, 
and  held  it. 

"  That  thar's  Leezer,"  remarked  Ossie  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone,  as  she  reached  for  a  skillet. 
"  She's  the  one  ornamint  that  we  has  here.  Me 
an'  Chris  we  does  all  the  work." 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  thought  James  Gaither,  in 
the  heat  of  instinctive  mental  protest.  "  A  Hebe 
like  that  to  be  made  to  feed  pigs  or  fry  bacon! 
She's  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world." 

James  stayed,  not  only  to  breakfast,  but  so 
far  into  the  mild  afternoon,  that  Ossie  and  Chris 
had  to  tell  him  "  hit  war  time  to  hitch  up  and 
make  tracks  "  if  he  wanted  to  reach  his  own  home 
before  midnight. 


10  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris  insisted  upon  driving  him  as  far  as  the 
first  mountain  settlement,  where  a  horse  and  con- 
veyance might  be  hired.  When  Gaither  started 
down  the  long  slope  to  the  valley  he  took  Leezer's 
girlish  heart  with  him,  but  left  all  of  his  own  in 
exchange. 

A  few  days  after  his  mountain  adventure,  the 
small  Virginia  community  became  greatly  excited 
to  hear  that  James  Gaither  had  bought  him  a 
horse.  Dunrobin  could  put  two  and  two  together, 
as  well  as  the  next,  especially  when  one  of  the 
two  was  a  horse.  Such  an  extravagance,  coupled 
with  the  hunter's  having  been  lost  a  whole  day 
on  the  heights  told  the  story;  for  the  Gaithers,  in 
common  with  many  of  the  old  families,  had  been 
impoverished  by  the  Civil  War. 

James  had  christened  his  spirited  chestnut  by 
the  queer  name  of  "  Sister,"  and  in  a  very  few 
weeks  the  mare  could  have  gone,  in  the  dark,  up 
a  certain  long  winding  road,  and  paused,  nicker- 
ing hopefully  for  refreshment,  at  a  certain  old 
tumbledown  stable  on  high  Painter's  Bald. 

In  October  of  the  same  year,  on  a  day  when 
the  mountains  were  splendid  in  scarlet,  and  gold, 
and  warm  sunshine,  James  Gaither  and  a  few 
chosen  friends,  men  and  women,  took  the  long  trail 
together,  and  brought  Leezer  down  to  the  lowlands 
as  his  bride. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    TRANSPLANTING 

WHEN   Leezer  had  gone,   leaving  silence 
where  she  had  made  laughter,  and  leav- 
ing patient  weather-worn  faces  where  her 
girlish  fairness  had  bloomed,  the  proud  but  dis- 
consolate mother  calmly  took  to  her  bed,  and  told 
Ossie  she   "  warn't   goin'  to   study  'bout   leavin' 
it, — never  agin." 

Chris  moped  around  the  pastures,  avoiding  the 
dull  home  as  much  as  he  possibly  could.  He  had 
dearly  loved  Leezer,  and  her  marriage  to  a  "  fur- 
riner  "  was  a  grief  it  took  long  to  console. 

As  for  Ossie,  a  sort  of  fierce  energy  clutched 
her.  The  old  farm  was  worked  as  never  before, 
and  success  rewarded  each  one  of  her  efforts. 
She  actually  spent  some  of  her  money  upon  better 
clothing  for  the  family,  and  ordered  books  too, 
humble  spellers  and  readers,  and  an  elementary 
arithmetic,  along  with  more  adult  volumes. 

Thereafter,  in  common  with  methods  of  "  blab 
schools,"  the  kind  known  in  the  hills,  where  each 
pupil  studies  aloud  at  the  top  of  a  shrill,  high- 
pitched  voice,  "  Sis  "  could  be  heard  "  a-gittin' 
book-larnin' "  for  a  mile  up  the  slopes. 

11 


12  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

The  mother  grew  used  to  the  sound,  and  when 
she  asked  Ossie  to  sooth  el  her  by  giving  "  some  o' 
that  pritty  book-readin' "  the  girl  would  comply 
with  a  thin  smile  of  triumph. 

"  Ef  only  yo'  po'  Paw  could  see  you  a'settin' 
thar  straight  as  a  stick,  an'  er-dronin'  along,  same 
ez  ole  Pason  Wiggs  fum  his  Bible,"  the  widow 
once  sighed. 

Chris,  on  the  contrary,  hated  the  sound  of  it,  and 
to  pin  the  tall  active  boy  to  five  minutes  of  atten- 
tion proved  a  difficult  task. 

"  But  you  mus'  lissen,  Chris,"  said  his  sister 
with  vehemence.  "  You  hev  got  ter  larn  readin' 
an'  writin'  an'  figgers  the  same  as  me,  an'  it  should 
be  even  better, — you  bein'  a  man. 

"  I  tell  you,  hit's  somethin'  ez  can't  be  put  off. 
Mebbe  we-uns  too,  Chris,"  she  added,  looking 
straight  into  his  face,  "  mout  go  down  to  the 
broader  lands  soon." 

Chris,  seated  on  the  sill  of  the  door  leading  down 
into  the  yard,  dug  into  the  sand  with  his  toe. 
His  face  had  not  reflected  her  eagerness. 

"  We  cain't  git  erway  fum  the  mountings,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  Thar's  Maw.  Ye  cain't  travel  Maw 
down." 

"  Yes,  thar's  Maw,  sure  'nuf,"  answered  Ossie, 
and  something  determined  and  hard  in  her  voice 
made  Chris  wince.  "  I  warn't  thinkin'  of  movin' 
Maw  outen, — I  warn't  thinkin'  o'  goin'  jes'  yit." 

In  the  bleak  of  that  winter  Mrs.  Laird's  lifelong 


THE  TRANSPLANTING  13 

idol  and  tyrant,  the  neuralgy,  plus  a  few  other 
"  ailmints,"  whose  name  as  spoken  gravely  by  old 
Doc  Clear-water  the  victim  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  learn, — brought  her  futile  career  to  an  end. 

Chris  wept  at  the  grave  placed  "  erlongside  o* 
Paw,"  and  would  steal  to  it  often,  laying  on  the 
bare  mound  sprigs  of  holly,  or  long  pendant  clus- 
ters of  bright  mountain  ash,  in  lieu  of  more  delicate 
flowers;  but  Ossie  had  no  time  for  such  visits. 

She  was  building  and  weaving  the  future,  as  a 
tailor-bird  weaves  its  stout  nest.  The  old  farm 
had  been  put  up  for  rent  or  sale,  though  she  tried 
to  keep  that  fact  from  Chris.  All  the  livestock 
went  down,  trip  by  trip,  in  the  form  of  pork,  wool, 
mutton,  or  bacon,  and  Sol  Thigpen's  huge  wagon 
"  schooner "  brought  back  in  return  dingy  rolls 
of  worn  "  greenbacks,"  or  thick  silver  dollars, 
which  Ossie  secreted  in  the  whorls  of  her  father's 
great  curved  hunting-horn. 

It  was  early  in  March  when  events  reached  a 
climax.  The  two  Lairds,  after  eating  their  supper, 
were  drawn  up  to  the  bright  kitchen  hearth. 

"  Chris,"  began  Ossie  slowly,  "  ef  you-uns  has 
any  old  duds  that  you  aims  to  carry  down,  hit's 
time  ye  war  thinkin'  o'  packin'."  Before  speaking 
the  next  words  she  paused,  and  leaned  forward  to 
stir  up  a  smouldering  log.  "  Sol  Thigpen's  to  drive 
us  down  into  the  city  in  two  days  fum  now." 

Chris  swallowed  a  thick  painful  lump.  It  had 
come,  and  he  felt  himself  helpless. 


14  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  I  don't  wanter  go,  an'  ye  knows  hit,"  he  said 
in  a  very  small  voice.  "  Hit's  a-jerkin'  my  heart 
by  the  roots  fer  to  leave  here." 

As  Ossie  kept  silent,  the  boy  turned  around  in 
the  old  hickory  chair  that  had  been  Paw's,  and 
looked  into  her  fire-lit  face,  with  round  humble 
eyes,  that  had  a  disturbing  resemblance  to  those 
of  a  sheep  about  to  be  slaughtered. 

"  We  hevn't  no  call,  as  I  kin  make  out,"  he  went 
on,  vaguely  heartened  by  his  sister's  thoughtful 
expression,  "  tryin'  ter  mix  up  with  them  fine  folk 
way  down  in  the  valley.  We  ain't  o'  their  breed, 
an'  don't  b'long  ermongst  'em.  We  don't  fit, — 
leastways,"  he  corrected  hastily,  warned  by  a 
twitch  of  thin  shoulders,  "  I  don't  fit." 

"  You  kin  fit  anywhar  that  ye  minds  to,"  said 
Ossie.  "  Yo'  trouble  is  that  ye  don't  mind.  Oh !  " 
she  cried  in  a  sudden  accession  of  anger,  "  why 
ain't  ye  got  backbone,  or  any  ambition  like  me? 
It's  a  funny  world  nohow,"  she  went  on,  her  voice 
shrill  and  vibrant  with  feeling.  "  Hit's  a  plumb 
crazy  world,  to  bring  ye  here  a  man-chile,  an'  me 
jes'  a  shrivelled  old  maid.  Ef  I  could  be  you,  an' 
you  be  the  'ooman " 

"  An'  by  thundah  I'm  willin'  to  be,"  roared  out 
Chris  in  his  anguish.  "  Ef  you'd  leave  me  in 
peace  on  the  mountings  I'd  be  a  sow,  or  a  hen- 
hawk,  or  a  tabby, — ef'n  only  ye'd  jes'  leave  me 
be!  "  and  then,  startled  to  realize  that  he  had 


THE  TRANSPLANTING  15 

actually  "  hollered  "  at  Sis,  sank  far  down  in  bis 
chair. 

A  tense  silence  came  over  them.  Once  Chris 
looked  around  furtively,  to  note  whether  or  not 
Ossie  had  reached  for  a  broomstick. 

The  fire  burned  low.  Filmy  squares  of  blue 
ashes  lay  like  ghosts  of  grey  bark  on  the  length 
of  a  glowing  red  log.  Chris's  long  legs,  tipped 
by  huge  slippered  feet  that  made  two  big  gaps 
in  the  firelight,  moved  them  outward  a  little,  to 
reach  for  the  warmth  of  the  coals. 

His  thick  body,  topped  by  a  head  that  habitually 
drooped  forward  a  trifle,  was  huddled  together 
in  a  mass  so  forlorn,  that  Sis's  heart  softened. 

Bud's  lip  quivered.  His  round  eyes  grew  humid 
with  tears.  "  Ef  hit  warn't  fer  my  critters,"  he 
said,  now  imploringly,  "  I  could  make  out  to  stan' 
hit  all  else.  Thar's  that  tame  fox  o'  mine, — the 
ole  white  bitch  I  keers  fer.  She's  jes'  had  a  litter, 
an'  I'm  powerful  eager  in  feedin'  'em.  An'  the 
spring  fun  all  over  the  mountings  is  jes'  startin' 
up.  Thar'll  be  layin-by  time  befo'  we  knows  hit, 
— an'  a  hull  day  o'  singin'  an'  prayin'  over  yan 
to  the  glen, — an'  round  thar  on  the  far  side  o' 
Painter's  Mr.  Thigpen  is  stretchin'  a  whole  hun- 
derd  hides  all  to  onct.  He  let  me  an'  'Lonzo  hep 
him  summat.  Hit  was  bully.  The  hides  they 
smell  till  they  seem  to  turn  ye  right  into  a  buzzard, 
— but  'Lonzo  an'  me  don't  min'  that.  An' " 


16  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Ossie  gave  a  quick  gesture  that  checked  him,  yet 
her  smile  was  indulgent.  "  Ye'll  fergit  all  them  po' 
mounting  frolics  when  ye  onct  is  made  friends  to 
the  city." 

"  I  won't  never  make  friends,"  wailed  the  boy. 
"  That  air  jes'  what  I'm  sayin'.  Do  a  kildee  make 
friends  with  a  beaver?  " 

"  Leezer  has,"  answered  Ossie.  "  She's  writ  me. 
She  don't  hanker  no  mo'  fer  the  mountings. 
You'll  fergit  'em,  the  same  ez  she's  done.  Ye 
jes'  watch." 

Chris  shook  his  great,  tumbled,  fair  head.  He 
knew  he  should  never  forget  them. 

In  Dunrobin,  Miss  Ossie  had  pre-engaged  rooms 
in  the  most  select  of  lodging-houses.  It  was  that  of 
Miss  Abby  Quigley,  a  two-storey  structure  of 
wood,  with  a  cramped  gabled  attic  and  shaded 
verandahs  that  ran  on  three  sides  of  the  first  floor. 
It  was  almost  directly  across  the  street  from  the 
brick  home  of  the  Gaithers. 

The  blissful  young  husband  and  Leezer  had 
insisted  on  having  the  brother  and  sister  come  to 
them  as  a  matter  of  course.  Indeed,  when  refusal 
persisted,  Leezer  dissolved  into  tears,  the  first 
since  her  marriage. 

But  Ossie  knew  her  own  mind :  that  was  certain. 
There  was  still  much  "  book-larnin'  "  before  her. 
She  knew  she  required  exactly  the  sort  of  seclusion 
and  privacy  that  her  small,  paid-for  chamber  af- 
forded. 


THE  TRANSPLANTING  17 

Chris  had  been  put  into  one  of  the  queer  attic 
rooms,  the  shape  of  a  logarithm,  and  about  as 
inspiring.  Soon  after  their  arrival,  Sis  had  at- 
tempted to  "  goard  "  Chris  into  going  to  school, 
but  against  this  the  boy  had  held  out  with  a 
desperate  tenacity. 

"  You  hadn't  ought  to  ast  me  to  do  nairy  sech 
a  fool-thing,"  he  protested.  "  I'd  look  a  plumb 
id  jit  settin'  thar  on  a  long  wooden  bench  with  them 
children  jes'  reachin'  my  elbow.  I'll  study  them 
pesky  schoolbooks  alone  in  my  room  withouten 
folks  lookin'  in;  but  I  don't  aim  to  study  out 
loud." 

"  Then  you  must  study  hard,  Chris,"  said  Ossie, 
perceiving  herself  to  be  defeated.  "  An'  you  must 
try  all  the  time  to  stop  usin'  them, — those  white- 
trash  words  like  '  withouten '  an'  *  id  jit '  an' 
'  plumb.' " 

"  I'll  remember  to  try,"  promised  Chris,  but 
his  tone  lacked  enthusiasm. 

Among  the  first  personal  friends  that  Ossie  made 
after  reaching  Dunrobin  was  the  little  librarian, 
Miss  Sally  Finger.  The  "  liberry,"  as  that  temple 
of  culture  was  usually  called,  occupied  two  long 
dusty  rooms  over  the  Dry  Goods  Emporium  of 
James  Weldon  &  Co.  This  important  business,  in 
spite  of  its  high-sounding  title,  was  run  only  by 
the  two  people  concerned — James,  a  thin-necked, 
alert  little  Englishman,  who  looked  like  a  shrimp 
partly  boiled  and  then  jerked  from  the  water,  and 


18  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

his  sister,  the  coy  Miss  Theresa,  who  was  a  twin 
shrimp  in  skirts. 

For  Miss  Laird's  bright  spots  of  life,  and  her 
genuine  relaxation,  there  were  daily  excursions 
across  the  red-clay  street,  to  the  Gaither  abode,  and 
hours  of  playing  with  Mildred.  Ossie's  heart  had 
flowered  out  at  the  first  sight  of  her  dainty  small 
niece.  She  was  Gaither, — from  her  delicate  head  to 
her  wee,  rosy  toes, — every  inch  was  pure  Gaither,  as 
Leezer  so  often  declared.  Indeed  there  existed  no 
trace  of  rude  mountain  vigour, — for  the  child  was 
small-boned,  faintly  coloured,  and  scarcely  missing 
that  state  called  fragile. 

Chris  hovered  about  the  child's  cradle,  or  would 
sit  on  the  floor  by  her  side, — but  could  never  be 
coaxed  into  lifting  the  exquisite  thing  in  his  arms. 

"  It  'ud  be  like  me  holdin'  a  butterfly,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  I'm  afeered  that  the  little  girl's  dust 
'ud  come  off  on  my  fingers." 


CHAPTER  III 

CHRIS  SEES  HALLONQUIST   HALL 

IT  was  a  bright  Sabbath  morning  in  May,  and 
Chris  Laird  had  made  his  escape  after  break- 
fast, to  avoid  the  unbearable  union  of  Ossie 
and  two  hours  at  church.    On  strong  legs  that  for 
years  had  been  trained  to  bear  him  up  high  craggy 
slopes,  he  now  set  out  to  cover  the  long  tepid 
stretches   of   Dunrobin's   turnpikes.      Within   the 
town  limits,   on  a  wide  tree-shaded  road,   stood 
Hallonquist  Hall,   the  impressive  "  fo'   de  war " 
show-place  of  Dunrobin. 

There  were  four  great  white  oaks  at  the  corners, 
like  four  poles  set  about  a  new  hayrick,  when  the 
saplings  insist  upon  growing.  Later  on,  Chris  was 
told  that  the  wife  of  the  original  Hallonquist,  the 
daughter  of  an  English  divine,  had  at  the  time  of 
their  planting  named  the  oaks  from  the  four 
apostles,  St.  Matthew,  St.  Mark,  St.  Luke  and 
St.  John. 

From  the  gate  a  broad  pebbled  driveway  lay- 
flat  between  hedges  of  lilacs,  until,  having  reached 
the  first  terrace,  it  divided  in  twain,  and  running 
out  to  the  right  and  the  left  was  lost  in  a  tangle 
of  shrubbery. 

19 


20  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris's  eager  gaze  ran  past  the  steps  and  the 
level  loggia  to  the  four  mammoth  white  columns 
which  held  up,  at  an  incredible  altitude,  a  triangu- 
lar pediment,  heavily  trimmed  with  dentals  of 
wood,  and  the  iron-railed  balcony,  jutting  out  from 
the  second  floor  windows. 

The  beauty  of  dark  slave-wrought  iron,  in  con- 
trast to  the  dazzling  facade,  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression upon  the  ignorant  boy  who  beheld  it. 

What  worlds  of  difference  divided  his  own 
humble  life  from  the  people  who  dwelt  in  so 
magnificent  a  home!  thought  the  wistful  observer. 
How  beyond  all  possible  dreams  it  would  be  that 
ever  he  harboured  a  friend  there! 

Chris's  freedom  for  strolls  such  as  this,  and 
excursions  to  size  up  the  town  to  which  fate,  in 
the  person  of  Ossie,  had  dragged  him,  did  not  last 
very  long.  When  Sis  became  certain  that  no 
coaxing  or  threats  would  force  her  young  brother 
to  school,  she  conferred  with  James  Gaither  on 
the  subject  of  getting  the  boy  some  sort  of  a  start 
in  an  office. 

This  position  was  secured  in  the  real-estate 
firm  of  Page  &  Youngblood,  and  Chris,  from  being 
a  sweeper  of  floors  and  an  ignominious  washer- 
out  of  the  ubiquitous  cuspidor,  gradually  rose  to 
be  an  accredited  rent  collector,  his  field  of  opera- 
tions confined  for  the  most  part  to  the  cabins  of 
improvident  negroes. 

Chris  honestly  did  his  best  to  keep  his  full  com- 


CHRIS  SEES  HALLONQUIST  HALL       21 

pact  with  Sis,  to  read,  to  study  and  "  figger  "  each 
evening;  but  his  small  room  proved  bitterly  cold 
during  the  winter,  and  correspondingly  hot  later 
on. 

He  would  start  upon  his  studies  briskly  enough, 
when  some  word,  such  perhaps  as  "  orchard,"  or 
"  hilltop  "  or  "  shepherd,"  wrenched  his  thoughts 
quite  away,  and  lifting  hot  eyes  he  would  stare 
through  his  one  dormer  window,  and  again  would 
lie  down  in  green  pastures  that  grew  so  far  away, 
or  lead  his  sick  heart  by  "still  waters." 

The  boarders  all  tried  to  be  kind,  each  in  his 
or  in  her  special  way,  but  the  boy's  shyness  clung, 
and  obscured  him  as  a  grey  mist  on  old  Painter's 
Bald. 

An  all-knowing  drummer,  who  "  blew  in  "  for  a 
few  days  every  fortnight,  moved  by  what  he  con- 
sidered the  frankest  and  kindest  of  motives,  drew 
Chris  to  one  side.  "  You  ain't  come  to  life  yet, 
my  young  buck ! "  the  travelling  man  said,  laugh- 
ing. "  I've  caught  on  to  the  trouble  with  you ! " 

This  worldly  assertion  came  forth  with  a  nudge 
and  a  wink  that  somehow  turned  Chris  hot  and 
angry. 

"  You  can  manage  to  have  just  as  much  fun  in 
a  little  old  one-horse  Southern  town  like  Dunrobin, 
as  you  can  in  Noo  Yawk.  But  of  course,"  the 
drummer  went  on,  his  face  full  of  evil  suggestion, 
"  a  feller  must  know  where  to  look.  Now,  you  take 
me  for  instance, — there's  a  covey  of  girls, — queens, 


22  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

all  of  'em,  that  I  run  down  to  old  Farmer " 

"  Shet  yo'  damn  mouth ! "  roared  Chris  at  this 
juncture.  "  What  you  think  that  I  be — a  sick 
dawg  to  be  flung  rotten  vittles?  Ef  you  spen'  one 
mo'  word  of  that  filth  in  my  hearin',  I'll  jes' 
nachally  ram  all  yo'  teeth  down  yo'  tho'te  an'  shake 
ye  ontwell  they  be  swallowed.  Hit's  true  that  I'm 
jes'  down  fum  the  mountings,  but  the  air  I  bin 
breathin'  is  clean." 

It  was  Miss  Quigley  herself  who,  by  accident, 
first  opened  a  path  of  deliverance.  At  the  rear  of 
her  house  stretched  a  small  vegetable  garden.  Her 
hired  man,  old  Ab'm,  had  just  been  laid  low  with 
the  misery  in  some  of  his  rusty  joints. 

Continuing  a  method  that  probably  held  in  the 
days  when  the  ladies  of  Tyre  and  of  Sidon  were 
driven  to  take  in  "  paying  guests,"  Miss  Quigley 
was  describing  minutely  to  the  dinner  table  all  of 
the  tragedy  old  Ab'm's  illness  at  this  critical  time 
might  entail. 

"  The  hotbed  of  lettuce  is  lovely,"  she  sighed. 
"  The  carrot  and  beet  tops  are  just  showing.  The 
cauliflowers  must  be  kept  in  their  straw,  or  these 
frosts  will  blacken  them.  The  cabbage  and  col- 
lards " 

"  Collards !  "  came  from  Chris  Laird  like  a  shot 
from  a  gun. 

"  Yes,  Christopher,"  replied  Miss  Abby  kindly. 
"  I  always  keep  a  row  for  the  kitchen.  The 
servants  are  fond  of  them.  Of  course,"  she  put  in 


CHRIS  SEES  HALLONQUIST  HALL       23 

with  a  slight  lifting  of  shoulders,  "  I  don't  serve 
collard-greens  here.*' 

"  I'd  be  powerful  pleased  to  work  them  craps  for 
you,  Miss  Abby,"  said  Chris,  forgetting  in  his 
eagerness  to  use  city  speech.  "  I'm  a  mighty  good 
hand  at  a  hoe,  as  Sis  can  tell  you." 

Sis's  face  was  a  thin  crimson  wedge  of  embar- 
rassment. 

"  It  is  true,"  Ossie  declared  in  her  most  stilted 
manner.  "  My  brother  is  interested  in  agr-ag-gicul- 
ture.  It  is  good  for  his  health.  I  am  sure  he  will 
be  happy  to  offer  his  services." 

After  this,  the  small  garden  patch,  once  so  inter- 
mittently tended,  became  Chris's  special  concern. 
He  would  rise  with  the  sun  to  dig  cutworms,  which 
at  that  hour  were  supposed  to  lie  quite  near  the 
surface,  and,  exhuming  a  culprit,  stretched  him 
out  on  the  rail  of  an  old  boarded  fence  which 
divided  Miss  Quigley's  lot  from  the  Rectory. 

Later  on  in  the  summer,  Chris  joyed  in  the  rest- 
less brown  moths  beating  down  to  the  deep  golden 
hearts  of  the  squash-blooms,  and  in  ghosts  of  small 
butterflies  flitting  along  with  the  bees  and  play- 
ing aerial  seesaw  on  the  pink,  silken  tassels  of 
corn. 

There  were  spiders,  too,  in  the  garden,  in  that 
blessed  oasis  of  dulness.  Chris  had  always  pos- 
sessed a  queer  liking  for  these  patient,  intelligent 
insects. 

Along  with  the  varieties  known  to  his  mountain, 


24  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris  had  the  joy  of  discovering  more  than  one  un- 
known species. 

One  day  on  the  rotting  old  board  fence  he  en- 
countered a  large  sluggish  creature  whose  back 
appeared  to  be  covered  with  sand.  Leaning  closer, 
he  saw  that  the  grains  were  a  mass  of  young 
spiders,  very  quiet,  and  huddled  together  as  if 
for  their  lives. 

As  the  movable  nursery  perceived  him,  it  slid 
through  a  crack  in  the  fence.  This  was  too  much 
for  Chris.  He  must  see  where  the  strange  mother 
"  bided." 

Forgetting  all  of  the  property  rights  of  a  city, 
he  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  fence  and,  catching 
sight  of  Ijis  prey  as  it  dove  into  a  hole  in  the 
earth,  sprang  over  beside  it. 

He  was  stooping  far  down,  intent  on  a  tunnel 
that  appeared  to  be  lined  with  brown  leather,  when 
he  heard  just  behind  him  a  voice, — a  girl's  voice, 
— and  the  speaker  was  laughing. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MARY  BARING 

CHRIS  stood  up  at  a  bound.  He  longed  pas- 
sionately to  follow  his  spider  but  instead 
he  seemed  to  be  growing  until,  from  a  hor- 
rible height,  he  looked  down  on  a  slender  girl 
clothed  in  delicate  blue  muslin,  down  into  an  up- 
raised face,  which  had  eyes  exactly  the  colour  of 
the  wild  morning-glories  now  clambering  up 
through  his  corn. 

Before  he  could  speak,  the  girl  flushed  and 
lowered  her  gaze.  "  Oh,  I  do  beg  your  pardon.  I 
thought  you, — I  thought  you  were  younger  and — 
and — smaller.  You  are  young  Mr.  Laird,  are  yov 
not, — the  brother  of  sweet  Mrs.  Gaither?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  Leezer's  brother,"  stammered  the 
wretched,  delighted  Chris.  "  I'm  asking  your 
pardon, — Miss — Miss " 

"  Mary  Baring,  and  I  live  here  at  the  Rectory 
with  Auntie, — and  I'm  just -home  from  a  visit  to 
Richmond,"  imparted  the  vision. 

Chris  nodded,  but  ploughed  on  with  the  words, 
"  I'm  asking  your  pardon  for  vaulting  your  fence 
like  I  done, — but  I'm  after  a  spider " 

"  A  what !  "  echoed  the  girl.    "  That's  all  'right 

25 


26  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

about  the  vaulting.  I'm  glad  that  you  did. 
Where's  the  spider?  " 

"  Right  down  there,"  pointed  Chris.  "  But  ain't 
you  skee.red  of  him?  Leezer  is, — even  Sis, — and  Sis 
ain't  skeered  of  much,  nuther." 

"  I  don't  really  know  whether  I'm  frightened 
or  not/'  said  the  exquisite  voice,  full  of  laughter. 
"  I  was  never  close  enough  to  find  out.  Let  me  try 
this  minute." 

"  There  he  is, — there  he  is, — in  his  do'way," 
cried  Chris  in  intensest  excitement.  Both  young 
things  squatted  down,  side  by  side,  their  eyes 
focussed.  "  Now,  ain't  she  the  beatenest  critter?  " 
the  boy  continued. 

"  Oh,  I  see  her, — I  see  him ! "  cried  Mary  in 
equal  excitement.  "  It's  there  in  its  little  round 
burrow,  all  lined  with  brown  velvet, — so  pretty! 
Now  he's  gone.  Oh,  Mr.  Laird  do  please  make  it 
come  back." 

"  She's  a  lady,"  said  Chris  simply.  "  You  caa't 
make  her  nohow.  She  was  strolling  round  airing 
her  fambly.  It's  all  glued  to  her  back." 

"What?"  asked  the  girl,  slightly  disconcerted. 
Then,  turning  again  to  the  object  of  interest,  ex- 
claimed :  "  There, — she's  come  back  to  the  day- 
light. She's  staring  right  up  in  our  faces.  Gracious ! 
How  many  eyes  has  she  got?  " 

"  Eight,"  replied  Chris,  with  such  pride  that  a 
hearer  might  infer  he  had  made  them.  "  Eight, 


MARY  BARING  27 

each  as  keen  and  as  bright  as  a  pin-pint.  And  she 
needs  'em,"  he  added,  with  a  low  happy  laugh. 
"  If  she's  going  to  look  round  and  keep  count  of 
her  children." 

"  Why,  it's  thrilling"  said  Mary  Baring,  taking 
in  a  long,  satisfied  breath.  "  Who  would  ever  have 
thought  that  a  spider  could  be  so  interesting?  " 

"  And  you  ain't  skeered  a  mite?  "  queried  Chris, 
as  the  two  rose  to  their  feet.  He  could  not  turn 
his  eyes  from  her  face.  The  long  stare  became  so 
embarrassing  that  Mary  flushed,  and  twitched 
rather  petulantly  aside,  as  she  answered,  "  No,  I 
ain't  scared  a  mite,  and  I'm  glad,  for  I  don't  like 
girls  that  are  scary." 

"  Nor  does  I.  You's  the  kind  of  a  girl  that  I 
likes,  'Miss, — Miss " 

"  Mary  Baring,"  she  told  him  again.  "  And  now 
that  we've  met,  Mr.  Laird,"  she  went  on,  self-pos- 
session having  returned,  "  you  must  come  to  the 
Rectory  and  call  on  Auntie  and  me.  We  both  love 
Mrs.  Gaither, — and  we'd  love  you  to  be  friends 
with  us  too." 

That  night  Chris  began  his  first  diary,  a  practice 
that  ran  with  the  course  of  his  life  and  was  destined 
to  be  of  deep  comfort  to  him. 

His  first  volume  began  humbly  enough,  with  the 
unused  pages  of  a  copy-book  purchased  by  Ossie, 
and  which  he  was  expected  to  fill  with  neat,  slant- 
ing reiterant  phrases,  such  as  "Ambition  is  the 


28  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

last  infirmity  of  noble  minds,"  "  Brave  souls  need 
braver  deeds  to  test  them  "  and  "  Csesar's  wife  must 
be  above  suspicion." 

Chris  had  reached  the  letter  G,  and  five  times 
had  traced  in  a  round  inhuman  chirography  the 
unanswerable  statement  that  "  Greater  is  he  that 
ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city."  A 
long  heavy  line  was  now  drawn,  and  after  dating, 
Chris  began: 

"  I  have  met  up  with  a  gal,  no  it's  girl,  that  ain't 
skeered  of  spiders.  She  is  nicer  to  look  at  than  any. 
Her  eyes  and  her  dress  is  both  blue,  and  her  cheeks  is 
shining  and  pink  like  our  sunrise.  When  she  laffs, 
it  sounds  jest  like  that  little  river  by  Lonzo's  Paw's 
tannery.  But  it  don't  smell  like  that  much.  She  axed 
me  to  call  jest  like  fine  city  folks.  She  didn't  mean 
holler,  by  calling, — but  to  step  up  to  her  door  and 
pull  a  bell,  and  a  black  woman  comes  quick  and  opens 
it.  I  don't  think  I  will  go,  but  I'm  glad  that  she  axed 
me." 

The  formal  visit  Mary  suggested  was,  indeed, 
for  the  present,  a  thing  quite  too  bold  to  attempt. 
But  Chris  moved  the  old  hickory  chair,  the  one 
"  dud "  he  had  brought  from  his  lost  mountain 
home,  to  that  end  of  Miss  Quigley's  verandah  that 
gave  on  to  the  Rectory  grounds,  and  each  day  with 
a  pencil  of  gold  he  marked  off  the  strokes ;  a  good 
day  or  bad,  being  dependent  upon  the  number  of 
times  he  had  caught  sight  of  Mary  Baring's  flutter- 


MARY  BARING  29 

ing  ribbons,  or,  much  better,  had  been  given  a 
bright  nod  or  a  smile. 

Had  Chris  been  introspective,  he  might  have 
sought  reasons  for  the  strange,  sweet  content  that 
now  filled  him.  The  nightly  struggles  with  his- 
schoolbooks  no  longer  appeared  as  a  task  to  be 
dreaded  or  shunned. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  as  by  now  he  called  Mary  Baring, 
spoke  a  language  that  ladies  should  speak,  and 
Chris  felt  that  the  lessening  of  difference  between, 
his  backwoods  dialect  and  the  girl's  crystal  phras- 
ing might  lessen  other  differences  too. 

The  work  at  his  office  seemed  lighter.  His  con- 
stant suggestions  "  to  step  out  an'  heckle  that  old 
possum  Tom  Jackson,  what's  got  rent  money  hid 
in  hig  pouch,"  or  "to  stroll  round  by  old  Granny 
Davis,  and  dig  up  another  fo'  bits,"  surprised  and 
delighted  Chris's  employers. 

How  could  those  elderly  persons  imagine,  as 
they  sat  in  their  small  and  dusty  office,  with  feet  on 
table  and  desk,  that  their  youthful  collector  was 
even  then  roaming  the  streets  for  a  glimpse  of  two 
eyes  like  blue  flowers? 

A  dreadful  awakening  came  to  the  boy  one  bright 
morning  at  breakfast. 

Miss  Quigley,  after  drawing  a  pleased  and  provoc- 
ative smile  down  both  sides  of  her  table,  an- 
nounced, "  Well,  at  last  Dudley  Hallonquist's  en- 
gagement is  admitted.  Of  course  we  all  knew  it 
was  coming,  but  we  couldn't  pin  either  of  the 


30  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

young  people  down.  They'll  be  married  next 
spring,  so  Mary's  Aunt  tells  me,  and  will  go 
straight  to  the  Hall  to  live." 

All  of  the  listening  faces  showed  lively  interest. 

"A  most  suitable  union,"  declared  Mr.  Butler, 
as  he  knocked  the  top  off  of  an  egg. 

"  A  beautiful  romance, — it  is  what  I  would  call 
simply  sweet"  tittered  a  virgin  of  sixty,  while 
old  Mrs.  Battle,  who  carried  the  families  of 
Virginia  as  a  chatelaine  carries  her  keys,  never 
missing  a  lock  with  her  first  fitting,  boomed  out 
in  a  very  deep  voice: 

"It  is  perfect!  Dudley's  mother  is  gratified. 
Poor  dear  soul,  now  perhaps  life  may  bring  her 
some  happiness  again.  She  has  never  revived  from 
the  death  of  her  husband, — a  devotion  and  depth 
of  affection  seldom  found  in  these  trivial  days." 

Chris  stared  hard  at  his  plate.  It  might  have 
been  squirming  with  beetles  for  all  that  he  saw 
there,  or  all  that  he  afterwards  ate. 

His  Miss  Mary !  It  could  be  no  other !  She  was 
going  to  marry  that  long,  spindling  Hallonquist 
man,  who  lived  in  the  "  Pride  of  Dunrobin."  His 
Mary  would  own  that  mansion,  would  be  finer  and 
infinitely  farther  away  from  the  circle  of  Chris's 
daily  existence. 

He  excused  himself  hastily,  and  without  trusting 
one  glance  toward  the  Rectory  hurried  downtown 
to  the  dingy  small  office. 

Before  either  partner  arrived,  Chris  was  out  in 


MARY  BARING  31 

the  suburbs  "  collecting,"  as  a  note  left  on  Mr. 
Youngblood's  desk  declared. 

But  the  boy  stopped  at  no  cabin  or  shanty.  No 
grannies  nor  possums  were  baited.  Like  a  wounded 
wild  thing  he  must  get  to  the  coverts  of  the  forest. 

He  flung  himself  down  in  the  first  shady  dell,  and 
began  his  long  battle. 

"  You're  a  fool, — a  plumb,  damn  fool,  Chris 
Laird,'1  he  cried  to  the  bushes  that  hid  him.  "  That 
there  lady  warn't  never  for  such  as  you.  It  be 
right  she  should  take  up  with  the  prettiest  man  in 
the  valley.  He  air  rich,  with  a  big  house  to  give 
her.  I  ought  to  be  glad  she  have  hooked  such  a 
likely  he-critter, — but, — oh,  Mary, — Miss  Mary," 
he  sobbed,  while  his  great  frame  shook  and  rolled 
in  the  grasses,,"  if  ye'd  only  bin  bred  to  the  mount- 
ings, an'  me  loved  an'  co'ted  ye  there!  Oh,  I 
cain't  do  withouten  ye,  Mary.  I  cain't  do  with- 
outen  ye,  nohow !  " 

Chris  rose  after  a  while.  Bits  of  grass  and 
torn  leaves  clung  like  flakes  of  green  wax  to  his 
clothing.  The  air  was  filled  with  the  crushed 
bitter-sweet  of  bruised  herbage.  The  boy  reared 
his  head  like  a  stag;  he  had  caught  the  sliding  of 
water. 

Beside  the  half-hidden  stream,  he  knelt  and 
bathed  his  red  eyes  and  his  hot  swollen  face.  The 
broad  shoulders  went  back.  He  had  "  twitched," 
as  it  were,  his  mantle  of  grey,  and  must  off  to  the 
work  of  existence.  He  thought  that  he  knew, 


32  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

with  the  sure  knowledge  agony  brings  us,  that  his 
whole  life  was  to  be  lived  "  withouten  "  Miss  Mary. 

Returning  to  Dunrobin,  Chris  paused  at  each 
humble,  recalcitrant  doorway,  and  the  rent  money 
turned  in  at  the  office  by  noon  of  that  day  caused 
the  firm  to  raise  their  collector's  wages. 

There  was  a  day  when  old  Mrs.  Battle  appeared 
with  her  face  slightly  ravaged  by  tears.  "  Yes," 
she  said,  "  it  is  only  too  true  that  poor  Mrs.  Hallon- 
quist  is  ill, — very  ill.  Now  that  her  son's  future  is 
certain, — for  she  loves  Mary  Baring  like  a 
daughter, — it  looks  as  if  the  poor  weary  soul  was 
too  tired  to  keep  on  with  life.  She  doesn't  want 
to  get  well,"  announced  Mrs.  Battle,  and  choked 
just  a  little  in  speaking.  "  She  admits  that  the 
one  thing  she  longs  for  now  is  to  join  her  young 
husband." 

"  Will  her  death  stop  the  wedding,  do  you 
think?  "  inquired  Ossie,  who  for  some  inscrutable 
reason  had  taken  an  active  dislike  to  Miss  Baring. 

"  Certainly  not,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Battle.  "  It's  the 
worst  luck  in  the  world  to  postpone  such  a  date. 
And  besides,  poor  Dudley  will  be  needing  a  wife 
more  than  ever." 

A  few  days  before  the  simple  ceremony,  arranged 
to  take  place  in  the  Rectory  parlour  with  only  the 
closest  of  relatives  present,  Mary  sought  out 
Christopher  Laird. 

"  I  want  you  to  come.    Now  promise  me,  Chris, 


MARY  BARING  33 

you'll  be  there  when  I'm  married.  We've  only  a 
handful  of  friends,  because  of  poor  Dudley's  deep 
mourning.  But  you  must  be  one  of  them,  Chris, 
— or  I'll  never  get  over  it.  Can  I  count  on  your 
coming?  " 

"  Yes,"  gulped  poor  Chris,  "  I'll  be  there.  And 
Miss  Mary " 

"  What  is  it,  dear  Chris?  " 

"  Should  you  take  it  as  too  all-fired  for'ard, — 
as  askin'  too  much, — ef  I  asked  you,  to — to " 

"  You  can  ask  me  just  anything,  Chris,"  said  the 
girl,  her  full  heart  brimming  up  at  the  sight  of  his 
cruel  embarrassment.  "  You  couldn't  ask  anything 
wrong." 

"  It's  just  this,  then,  Miss  Mary,"  the  boy  said, 
determined  to  force  his  plea  through  by  an  effort. 
"  The  brides  in  these  parts  they  carries  bokays  with 
them,  don't  they, — same  as  we  do  in  the  mount- 
ings?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Mary,  her  eyes  bright  as 
she  took  in  his  meaning.  "  And  you'll  gather  the 
flowers  for  my  wedding  bouquet?  Is  that  it?  " 

"  You  can  reckon,"  said  Chris,  and  the  ghost  of 
a  smile  made  his  homely  face  charming.  "  I'll  pick 
out  just  the  sweet-smellin'  white  uns, — and  bind 
them  up  like  a  big  cabbage,  with  small  bits  of  grass, 
and  them  shaky  green  ferns  about  the  edges." 

So  Chris  was  there,  and  the  picture  of  Mary, — 
his  Mary, — in  her  simple  organdy  gown,  a  mist 


34  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

of  tulle  veiling,  and  her  bouquet  of  flowers,  small 
white  roses,  and  pale  honeysuckle  bound  with  ferns, 
and  wee  nameless  sprites  of  wild  blooms  from  the 
hillsides,  was  a  vision  he  drew  to  his  heart,  en- 
closing, and  consciously  holding  it,  his  cross  and 
his  altar  in  one. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  STUDY  OF  COCOONS 

WITHIN  a  few  months  of  the  Hallonquist 
wedding,  Leezer  died,  leaving  an  infant, 
her  second  child,  Letty. 

Miss  Ossie  moved  to  the  Gaither  house  at  once,  to 
take  charge  of  "  poor  James  "  and  to  do  her  full 
duty  by  "  poor  Leezer's  "  children.  That  she  did 
it  no  soul  in  Dunrobin  pretended  to  doubt. 

Chris  was  haled  down  from  his  attic  logarithm, 
rather  unwillingly,  for  the  boy  had  become  used  to 
his  den.  He  was  given  a  larger  and  a  pleasanter 
room  in  the  servants'  wing  over  the  Gaither 
kitchen. 

At  the  north  Chris  looked  down  on  a  trampled, 
neglected  square  of  weeds,  which  he  quickly  trans- 
formed to  a  garden,  worthy  mate  to  the  one  just 
abandoned. 

Miss  Quigley  was  quite  in  despair.  "  That  nice 
boy,"  she  wailed  out  to  her  circle  of  sympathy. 
"  I  don't  know  what  we'll  do  now  he's  gone.  The 
garden  has  never  been  kept  up  as  he  kept  it.  Why, 
the  vegetable  carts  never  stopped  at  my  door  any 
more." 

35 


36  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

As  Chris  delved  in  his  new  bit  of  earth,  he  felt 
sure  that  the  winged,  crawling  "  critters  "  began 
one  by  one  to  follow  him.  He  welcomed  each  as 
a  friend. 

His  copy-book  now  had  been  filled.  To  continue 
the  writing,  he  purchased  a  thickish  new  one.  At 
this  time  Chris  did  not  know  the  terms  "  diary  " 
or  "  journal,"  so  he  called  it  "  My  Memory  Book." 
Nor  had  he  acquired  toward  these  soliloquies  any 
sense  of  diurnal  obligation.  He  wrote  only  when 
something  had  happened  that  seemed  to  him  worth 
putting  down. 

The  lonely  boy's  first  sense  of  "  home,"  his  first 
reaching  out  for  a  conscious  environment,  was 
when  Ossie  told  him  he  could  drive  nails  in  his 
walls  as  he  pleased.  There  was  no  plaster  to  in- 
jure, for  the  room  was  ceiled  and  painted  through- 
out a  pale  sooty  grey. 

One  day,  from  a  long  hillside  ramble,  he  brought 
tenderly  back  a  branch  of  a  tulip-poplar  from  w.hich 
hung  a  shaggy  cocoon.  He  thought  that  he  knew 
the  sort  of  small  red-brown  butterfly  that  was  soon 
to  emerge  from  the  aerial  cell,  but  it  would  be  lots 
of  fun  to  watch  it  while  breaking. 

The  branch  he  intended  to  fasten  just  over  his 
mantel,  where  he  could  see  it  first  thing  every 
morning. 

But  to  do  this  he  had  to  take  down  a  framed 
picture,  a  lithograph,  once  brightly  coloured,  called 
"The  Rock  of  Ages."  It  showed  a  husky  young 


A  STUDY  OF  COCOONS  37 

woman,  in  a  rotary  attitude,  clothed  in  a  very  stiff 
white  garment,  and  clinging  with  manicured  fingers 
to  a  huge  cross  in  mid-ocean. 

With  the  picture  removed  and  held  in  one  wav- 
ing hand,  Chris  stood  still  to  consider.  Of  course 
if  Sis  "  ketched  "  him  there  might  be  some  trouble, 
but  Ossie,  as  far  as  he  knew,  never  came  to  his 
room. 

"  Shucks ! "  he  muttered  at  length,  putting  the 
picture  well  back  of  a  three-legged  bureau, — "  that 
there  girl  couldn't  a'  swum  through  such  waves 
in  her  nightgown,  a  leavin'  it  plumb  full  of  starch. 
And  besides,  nobody  could  build  such  a  cross  in 
the  ocean.  This  here  butterfly-ball  is  a  whole 
dartfed  sight  truer,  and  more  pretty." 

After  this,  other  branches  and  other  cocoons 
found  lodgment  against  the  same  grey  walls.  A 
brilliant  crab-spider  placed  in  the  feathery  twigs 
of  a  sparkle-berry  branch,  began  instantly,  to 
Chris's  delight,  to  spin  his  silvery  kite-frame. 

Queer-shaped  small  eggs,  undoubtedly  reptilian, 
sluggish  larvae,  needing  tin  cans  and  mud,  along 
with  whole  slices  of  bark  harbouring  globules  that 
hinted  of  hatching,  were  garnered  so  fast,  that 
Chris  was  sore  put  about  to  find  niches  for  all  of 
them. 

One  day,  in  the  squalid  back-alley  of  James 
Weldon  &  Co.  Chris  chanced  to  see  a  discarded  old 
spool-chest,  consisting  of  four  drawers,  the  lowest 
one  broken.  Forgetting  his  shyness,  he  rushed  into 


38  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  store  and,  encountering  Miss  Theresa,  the 
"  Co."  of  the  firm,  solicited  and  obtained  the  crude 
cabinet. 

In  Miss  Ossie's  well-ordered  household  were  two 
servants,  a  very  fat  cook,  who  was  black  as  the 
stove  that  she  baked  in,  called  Aunt  Ninny,  and  a 
bright  yellow  maiden  of  seventeen,  who,  in  response 
to  her  new  mistress'  query,  announced  herself 
briefly  as  Baby  Doll. 

"Baby  Doll!  Baby  Doll  what?'1  asked  Ossie. 
She  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  negroes,  and  sus- 
pected the  girl  of  impertinence. 

"  My  pappy's  named  Jinkins, — Mr.  Paul  Peter 
Jinkins,"  the  questioned  one  replied  amiably. 
"  Dat'll  make  my  full  Baby  Doll  name  Miss  Baby 
Doll  Jinkins." 

"  I  don't  care  for  your  family  name,"  Miss  Ossie 
remarked  rather  sharply.  "  What  I'm  meaning  to 
ask  is,  whether  there  isn't  some  reasonable  thing 
I  can  call  you,  like  Jane  or  Maria?  " 

"  We  don't  hoi'  to  dem  po'  white-trash  names," 
Miss  Baby  Doll  retorted,  tossing  a  halo  of  thick 
anti-kink  wool,  "  but  de  name  dat  my  ole'  granny 
give  me " 

"  Yes,  that's  just  what  I  want,"  Miss  Ossie  threw 
in  with  relief.  "  Something " 

"  It  is  Miss  Queen  Victoria  Jiukins,  an' " 

Miss  Ossie's  control  was  a  triumph. 

"  Very  well,  Baby  Doll,"  and  she  turned  around, 


A  STUDY  OF  COCOONS  39 

beckoning  royalty  to  follow,  "  come  with  me  and 
I'll  Jearn  you  your  duties." 

To  her  mistress  one  day  Baby  Doll  brought  a 
round-eyed  complaint.  "  Mr.  Chris  is  done  locked 
up  his  do',  an'  car'd  de  key  to  his  office." 

"  Locked  his  door ! "  repeated  Miss  Ossie  with 
her  quick  nervous  frown.  "Are  you  certain? 
Won't  some  other  of  the  keys  fit  it?  " 

"  Nome,"  said  Baby  Doll  pertly.  "  I  is  tried 
to  de  las'.  It's  one  of  dese  new-fangled  jail  locks 
Mr.  Chris  is  done  bought  fer  hisself." 

"  A  Yale  lock,"  murmured  Miss  Ossie,  looking 
thoughtful.  "  Well,  Baby  Doll,  you  go  on  with 
your  work,  I'll  see  Mr.  Chris  when  he  comes." 

"  It's  just  this-a-way,  Sis,"  he  began,  in  the  tone 
of  the  J)oy  from  the  mountains.  "  You  'lowed  as  it 
was  my  own  special  room,  and  somehow  I'm  gettin' 
plumb  crazy  about  it.  I've  got  critters  there " 

"  I  knew  it ! "  cried  Miss  Ossie  in  triumph. 
"  Spiders,  beetles  and  slugs,  and  of  course  there'll 
be  bedbugs, — in  my  house  too !  I  can't  understand 
your  wanting  to  have  insecks  around  you,  Chris 
Laird,  when  you've  got  all  outdoors  crawlin'  with 
'em." 

"But  I  ain't,  Sis,  I  ain't!"  the  boy  cried  ex- 
citedly. "  That's  my  trouble.  Everybody's  got 
outdoors,  same  as  me.  I  is  getting  to  care  for 
my  room  because  it's  like  my  outdoors  in  my 
pocket.  I'll  spread  up  my  own  bed,  Sis,  'clar  to 


40  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

gracious  I  will.  I  don't  care  much  for  life  here 
in  these  lowlands,  nohow.  And  that  there  little 
room  is  getting  to  be  like  a  piece  of  the  mountings." 

Chris  did  not  smile  often.  When  he  did,  it  was 
hard  to  resist.  And,  after  all,  Ossie  dearly  loved 
this  shy,  no-count  young  brother. 

"  Well,  it's  plumb  foolish  of  me,"  she  smiled 
tentatively. 

Chris's  eyes  shone.  By  that  single  word 
"  plumb  "  he  knew  he  had  won. 

The  summer  and  autumn  slipped  by.  Chris  had 
been  once  to  Hallonquist  Hall,  and  had  been  taken 
through  its  great  chambers.  The  main  hallway, 
and  two  flights  of  stairs,  curving  upward  "  like  a 
big  turkey  wishbone,"  impressed  him  most  deeply 
of  all. 

Dudley  Hallonquist  liked  Chris,  and  wondered, 
in  speaking  with  Mary,  why  the  boy  constantly  re- 
fused the  young  husband's  very  sincere  invitations. 
Mary  smiled  in  her  heart,  for  she  knew. 

Christmas  neared  them.  On  the  night  before 
the  holiday  Chris,  returning  quite  late  from  a 
•visit,  his  third  one  to  Hallonquist  Hall,  locked  his 
door,  lit  his  slanting  gas  bracket,  and  opened  his 
old  "  Memory  Book." 

"This  is  Christmas  Eve,  187 — .  I  have  just  come 
from  the  Hall,  where  I  tooken  a  present  to  Miss  Mary. 
I  should  have  said,  I  taken  the  present,  for  I  promised 
Sis  I  would  try  to  do  better  on  grammer. 


A  STUDY  OF  COCOONS  41 

I  seen  it  at  Jas.  Weldon  and  Co.  and  got  Miss  Teresy, 
who  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  to  put  it  one  side  till  I 
could  pay  for  it  gradual.  It's  a  big  photograf  album 
made  out  of  long-haired  red  velvet,  with  a  posey  in 
chancy  on  top.  The  flowers  is  meant  to  be  roses. 

I  am  feeling  real  lonesome  tonight.  It's  the  same 
sort  of  feeling  you  have  when  the  mists  hide  your 
sheep,  and  don't  none  of  them  bleat  none.  You  gets  to 
wondering  whether  or  no  hants  can  be  in  the  mist. 

Miss  Mary  is  sweeter  than  ever  she  was  in  her  girl 
days.  When  she  looks  at  her  man  it's  like  sunshine  bust 
out  on  blue  flowers.  Then  she  looks  round  at  me,  and 
the  sun  it  ain't  shining  so  bright. 

I'm  plumb  glad  she's  happy.  I  want  her  to  have 
of  the  best  that  God  gives  to  His  critters.  I  can't  figger 
out  as  it's  wicked  for  me  to  keep  on  loving  Miss  Mary, 
but  if  it  was  a  sin,  I  must  keep  on  being  a  sinner. 

Miss  Mary  is  going  to  have  a  young  one  before  very 
long.  I  knows  things  such  as  this  from  tending  a 
many  a  mother-sheep,  and  nussing  my  white  fox  and 
litter.  I  often  wonder  where  my  fox  is  a-roamin'  by 
now. 

If  Miss  Mary  should  die  when  her  hour  comes,  like 
Leezer,  I  ain't  aiming  to  bide  in  the  valley.  I  wouldn't 
care  if  Sis  threw  a  duck-fit,  I  would  nachally  take  up 
my  foot  in  my  hand  and  go  back  to  the  mountains.  I 
wouldn't  endure  to  stay  round  here  if  that  happened, 
nohow. 

I  don't  bleeve  it  will  happen.  Miss  Mary  will  live 
and  do  fine.  I  hopes  that  she'll  give  us  a  girl-child  that 
looks  like  herself,  not  its  Paw. 

Miss  Mary  she  give  me  my  Christmas  gift  before  leav- 
i«g.  It  is  a  new  fotched-on  pipe  she  calls  meershawm 


42  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

and  is  held  in  a  brown  leather  case  lined  with  purple 
like  duelling  pistols.  I  ain't  aiming  never  to  smoke  it. 

The  last  word  what  she  spoke  not  another  soul  heard 
it.  She  said,  '  Good-night  and  good-bye,  dear  dear 
friend,  and  God  bless  you.'  It  mout  'a'  been  angels 
a-singin'. 

Miss  Mary  loves  God.  I  think  I'll  try  loving  Him 
too.  Amen  and  no  more  for  tonight.  Tomorrow'll  be 
Christmas." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   GREAT   FIRE 

LTTLE  Sophie  Delvoe  Dudley  Hallonquist,  the 
last  of  her  name  and  race,  was  just  three 
years  old  when  Hallonquist  Hall  burned 
to  the  ground. 

By  a  singular  chance,  the  fire  took  place  on  the 
actual  night  of  her  birthday,  March  the  eighth. 

The  brilliant  and  adored  little  being  had  been 
given  her  first  party.  Mammy  Tempey  had  baked 
her  a  cake  the  size  of  a  white  velvet  footstool,  and 
topped  it  with  three  pigmy  candles.  There  was 
pink  lemonade  in  the  huge  priceless  punch-bowl  of 
Royal  Worcester,  and  wide  platters  of  small  cakes, 
covered  with  pink  and  white  icing. 

All  of  juvenile  Dunrobin,  that  happy  portion 
chancing  to  fall  in  between  the  ages  of  three  and 
ten  years  of  age,  came  with  the  usual  attendance  of 
nurses,  and  mothers,  and  unmarried  aunts.  Chris 
had  brought  Mildred  and  Letty,  Miss  Ossie  having 
declined  the  Hallonquist  invitation. 

The  old  mansion  had  not  worn  such  an  air  of 
elation  since  long  "  'fo'  de  war."  The  two  Hallon- 
quist servants,  coal-black  Uncie  Grief,  and  his 
comely  fat  wife,  Mammy  Tempey,  were  like  childen 

43 


44  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

themselves    in    their    tremulous    excitement    and 
pride. 

"  Hit's  de  good  ole  days  come  back  once  mo'," 
panted  Tempey,  as  she  staggered  indoors  with  the 
cake,  her  brick  kitchen  being  some  distance  out  to 
the  northwest  of  the  big  house,  and  directly 
under  the  branches  of  the  arboreal  apostle  St. 
Mark. 

"  I's  done  felt  it  comin' — I's  drempt  it,"  she 
emphasized,  her  fair  load  being  placed  on  the  table. 
"  Even  de  good  Lawd,  he  knows  you  can't  keep 
er  Hallonquist  down." 

"  Ain't  it  so,  Duck?  "  voiced  Grief  from  the  fire- 
place, where,  on  his  knees,  he  was  piling  the  great 
oak  logs,  and  setting  a  small  aromatic  starting  of 
"  lightwood."  "  Hit's  de  trufe,  as  ever  you  spoke 
it.  Cream  an'  soap-suds  an'  quality,  dey  all  rises 
to  whar  dey  belongs." 

At  four  o'clock  a  gay  trooping  in  of  white- 
f rocked,  beribboned  small  fairies  began.  The  whole 
house  was  made  sweet  by  the  laughter  of  children. 

Little  Sophie  in  white,  with  a  huge  rose-coloured 
sash,  and  an  incredible  bow  on  the  top  of  her  curly 
bronzed  head,  showed  herself  at  three  to  possess  the 
innate  gifts  of  a  hostess. 

"  Turn  and  see  my  bid  take,"  she  would  cry  out 
to  each  new  arrival.  "  You're  to  have  turn,  a  bid 
thlice,  betausen  you're  tumpany.  But  Mammy, 
she  made  it  for  me,  betausen  it's  my  birfday." 

Dudley  Hallonquist,  after  giving  a  courteous 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  45 

welcome  to  his  guests,  began  to  thread  his  way 
through  the  groups,  as  if  he  had  lost  something. 
He  had  not  seen  his  wife  for  ten  minutes,  and  was 
beginning  to  miss  her. 

He  found  her,  withdrawn  from  the  circle  of  fire- 
light,  standing  alone  in  the  shadows,  her  eye» 
lambent  with  rapture,  fixed  on  Sophie. 

"  Oh,  Dudley"  Mary  Hallonquist  breathed,  as 
the  young  husband  joined  her,  "  did  you  ever  see 
anything  quite  so  enchanting  as  Baby?  Some- 
times the  child  actually  frightens  me, — she's  so 
smart,  and  so  lovely,  and — and " 

"  Dynamic,"  laughed  Dudley,  supplying  the  one 
perfect  word. 

"  I  wonder,"  mused  Mary,  as  she  caught  at  his 
hand  in  the  semi-darkness,  "  whether  it's  just  be- 
cause we  adore  her  so  much  and  are  blinded,  or 
whether  Sophie  really  is  the  most  beautiful  child 
ever  born." 

"  She's  the  prettiest  thing  on  earth,  next  to  one,? 
gallant  Dudley  assured  her.  "  And  I'm  the  hap- 
piest man  in  the  world !  " 

At  eight  the  great  grandfather's  clock  in  the 
hallway  chimed  out  the  hour  of  departure. 

Later  on  Tempey,  groaning  and  grumbling,  now 
that  the  strain  of  excitement  was  over,  climbed  the 
creaking  old  steps  to  her  bedroom  over  the  kitchen, 
while  her  spouse,  made  hilarious  because  of  certain 
potations,  not  all  pink  lemonade,  which  "  young 
Marster "  had  offered  his  few  male  guests,  and 


46  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

his  hopeful-eyed  butler  as  well,  stayed  behind  to 
bank  up  the  glowing  fires. 

This  office  was  hastily  performed.  The  night 
had  grown  cold,  and  a  fierce  northwest  wind  began 
to  blow.  The  thought  of  his  big  feather-bed,  and 
the  gleam  of  a  humbler  hearthstone,  wrought 
strange  yearnings  in  the  bosom  of  Grief. 

Through  the  night  the  wind  steadily  increased. 
It  roared  in  the  branches  of  Saints  Matthew,  Mark, 
Luke  and  John,  with  the  sound  of  breakers  on 
rocks.  Even  the  house  shook  at  times,  as  if  squar- 
ing itself  to  the  tempest. 

It  was  perhaps  two  o'clock  when  Mary  Hallon- 
quist  was  wakened  by  the  smell  of  acrid  paint- 
smoke  in  her  nostrils.  She  sprang  from  her  bed, 
screaming,  "  Dudley, — there's  fire  in  the  house!  " 
and  then  she  ran  to  gather  up  Sophie. 

The  child  always  declared  she  remembered  it, 
from  that  first  agonized  cry  and  the  waking  clutch 
of  her  mother,  to  the  instant — five  minutes,  an 
hour,  or  a  century  later — when  her  struggling, 
protesting  young  body  was  borne  through  a  bright 
world  in  flames,  and  shut  in  to  the  stifling  black 
safety  of  Nurse  Tempey's  room. 

This  tragedy,  set  on  the  child's  soul  its  first  blaz- 
ing date  of  self-consciousness:  on  a  mind  which, 
even  at  that  early  age,  was  alert  and  retentive  it 
seared  a  lifelong  impression. 

And  half  of  that  splendour  of  fire  which  she 
caught,  before  fate,  in  the  person  of  Tempey,  hurled 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  47 

her  down  to  a  big  feather-bed  and  closed  the  room- 
curtains, — was  because  of  the  wind.  The  demoniac 
March  wind  that  shrieked  triumph  about  the  proud 
mansion,  beating  down  on  its  head  with  invisible 
flails,  until  sparks  would  fly  up  in  great  hissing 
rushes,  or  burst  sidewise  in  clouds  of  bright  grain. 

The  blaze  which  was  to  cause  such  destruction 
had  begun  from  the  carelessly  banked  fire  in  the 
dining-room,  back  of  the  parlour,  and  separated 
only  by  old-fashioned  sliding  mahogany  doors,  the 
two  rooms  taking  up  the  west  length  of  the  first 
floor.  Above  them  were  the  sleeping  apartments 
occupied  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hallonquist  and  the 
baby. 

Before  his  wife's  cry  was  an  echo,  Dudley  stood 
on  his  feet.  Taking  time  only  to  light  a  candle, 
then  to  jerk  on  a  pair  of  high  shoes  with  no  socks, 
and  wrap  his  long  frame  in  an  old  flowered  dress- 
ing-robe that  had  belonged  to  his  father,  Hallon- 
quist sped  down  the  stairs  and  out  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Run,  Uncle  Grief,  run,  run  for  your  life,  and 
begin  ringing  your  old  Baptist  church-bell.  Some 
neighbour  will  hear  and  spread  the  alarm.  They'll 
hear  us  in  spite  of  the  wind.  The  Hall  is  on  fire 
inside,  and  the  flames  will  break  through  any  in- 
stant. And,  Tempey,"  cried  the  desperate  voice, 
"  throw  on  something, — throw  on  anything  quick, 
— and  come  to  your  mistress.  I'm  afraid  she'll  go 
wild  in  this  horror,  and  I  count  on  your  caring  for 
Sophie." 


48  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

He  tore  back  to  the  hall,  flung  the  rear  doors 
wide  open,  and  was  met  by  a  volume  of  smoke. 

"  Mary !  Mary !  "  he  screamed,  "  you  must  hurry. 
The  dining-room  wall  is  buckling  now,  and  your 
floor  may  crash  through.  Bring  Sophie  down." 

"  Yes,  Dudley,  I'm  coming,"  her  voice  answered 
queerly.  "  But  I  can't  find  one  of  baby's  shoes." 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  thought  the  frenzied  husband, 
"she  is  going  fire-mad!  What  on  earth  shall  I 
do?" 

As  he  started  upstairs,  at  his  heels  came  Tempey 
running.  "  Whar's  my  child? "  she  called  out. 
"  Dey  ain't  nobody  but  jes'  ole  Tempey  gwinter 
save  de  las'  ob  de  Hallonquists.  Wharbouts  Miss 
Mary  done  put  her?  " 

"  Oh,  Tempey,  go  quick.  They  are  both  in  the 
bedroom.  Your  poor  mistress  has  quite  lost  her 
head,"  the  man  panted.  "  Take  the  baby,  don't  let 
Mary  touch  her.  I'll  look  after  Mary  myself." 

"  Glory  be !  Dar's  de  bell  rung  a'ready," 
Tempey  took  breath  to  announce.  "  Grief's  a- 
ringin'  jes'  ez  if  he  might  bring  down  Gawd  on  dat 
bell-rope.  Da'll  be  he'p  comin'  here  in  a  minute. 
Lord!  De  flames  is  squeezin'  out  th'oo  de  dinin'- 
room  keyhole, — Marster  Jesus,  hab  mercy  'pon  dy 
people !  " 

Tempey  drove  into  the  bedroom,  where  Mary, 
distracted  and  vacant,  was  sobbing  and  laughing 
aloud,  now  catching  up  the  terrified  baby,  now 
flinging  her  back  to  the  bed,  in  order  that  she,  the 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  49 

poor  mother,  might  scramble  about  on  all-fours, 
determined — as  the  one  thing  important — to  find 
the  still  missing  shoe. 

Catching  sight  of  her  nurse,  little  Sophie  held 
out  straining  arms  of  relief.  Tempey  snatched  the 
child  up,  and  wrapping  her  around  with  a  blanket 
bore  her  burden  down  the  stairs,  with  no  further 
concern  for  the  mother. 

Dudley  passed  Tempey  now  on  his  way  to  rescue 
his  wife.  "  Try  to  calm  yourself,  darling,"  he 
pleaded.  "  You  must  put  on  some  shoes  and  a 
wrap, — and  come  with  me  out  of  this  burning 
building." 

"  Oh,  not  into  the  night,  and  that  horrible,  hor- 
rible shrieking,"  wailed  Mary.  "  And  my  pretty 
things  here  in  the  bureau, — all  of  my  linen  and 
laces, — and  that  dear  little  sewing-table  over  there 
in  the  corner.  Your  dear  mother  gave  it  to  me  for 
my  own.  I  won't  go  and  leave  my  table." 

"  I'll  come  back  and  get  it,"  coaxed  Dudley,  see- 
ing it  was  essential  to  humour  her. 

Chris  stood  in  the  smoke-curling  doorway.  From 
below,  in  the  hall,  rose  the  trampling  of  many  feet. 

"Oh,  thank  God,  help  has  come!"  muttered 
Dudley. 

"  Hallonquist !  Hey  there, — you, — hello,  Dud- 
ley ! "  came  voices  and  cries  through  the  smoke. 
"  Come  down  here  and  point  out  the  things  you 
want  saved.  We're  all  ready,  and  there's  no  time 
to  lose." 


50  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  I  must  go,"  Dudley  choked.  "  There's  my 
books  and  my  Chippendale  desk, — and  my  papers. 
The  library  wing  is  untouched.  May  I  leave  my 
poor  Mary  with  you,  Chris?  You  must  manage  to 
get  her  away, — and  to  slip  on  some  things.  She 
will  die  in  the  cold  if  she  doesn't." 

"  I'll  take  care  of  her,"  said  Chris.  "  Run  along 
to  your  books  and  your  papers." 

"  Now,  Miss  Mary,"  Chris  began,  strolling 
toward  her,  with  a  gait  as  serene  as  though  it  were 
over  green  meadows.  "  Seems  like  we'd  better 
search  around  for  some  gyarmints." 

"  But  my  sewing-table,  dear  Chris,"  whimpered 
Mary,  looking  up  in  his  face  with  the  eyes  of  a 
small  frightened  child.  "  Dudley  wants  me  to  leave 
it,  and  it  was  given  me  by  his  own  mother.  I 
couldn't  do  that.  Now,  could  I?  " 

"  You  can  reckon ! "  affirmed  Chris  genially. 
"  You  and  me  we'll  tote  it  out  together.  But  you 
can't  do  your  share  of  the  lifting  in  your  night- 
gown, and  no  shoes  on  your  feet.  Here,  sit  down 
here.  They  ain't  no  manner  of  hurry.  I  can  slip 
on  those  shoes  in  a  wink.  There!  It's  did.  What'd 
I  tell  you!  And  next  thing  is  to  find  a  horse 
blanket,  or  wrapper,  or  something  to  cover  you  up 
from  the  wind.  Where  do  you  keep  all  them 
clothes  you  been  wearing?  " 

"  Over  there  in  the  wardrobe  with  mirrors," 
Mary  replied,  pointing  a  trembling  finger.  "  All 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  51 

my  dresses  are  there  on  the  hooks,  and  on  that  top 
shelf,  is  a  brand  new  bonnet." 

"  We'll  just  grab  up  a  armful  of  doo-dingles, 
and  chuck  them  out  the  window,"  said  Chris,  suit- 
ing the  deed  to  his  words.  "  Now  here's  a  man's 
sort  of  coat,"  he  remarked,  selecting  a  warm  wool- 
len ulster.  "  It's  the  thing  what  you're  needing 
right  now.  Stick  your  arms  in  for  Chris, — that's  a 
lady.  Now  just  wait  until  I  heft  up  this  table, — 
no,  I  won't  let  the  drawers  clatter  out, — don't  you 
see  I'm  slanting  it  careful?  " 

All  the  while  Chris  was  talking,  he  was  at  pains 
to  keep  Mary's  attention  closely  fixed  upon  him- 
self, in  an  effort  to  prevent  her  terror  overcoming 
his  authority. 

"  Look,  Miss  Mary,"  he  continued,  "  you  reach 
down  and  grab  onto  a  leg.  That  will  do, — it's  the 
same  as  the  others.  And  don't  you  let  go,  not  if 
hell  busts  loose  on  the  stairway.  Steady  now 
through  the  door.  Hold  your  breath,  for  the  smoke 
is  something  pizen.  Here's  the  steps.  Remember 
they's  curving.  There  ain't  nothing  to  think  on, 
but  just  gitting  your  table  safe  out  in  the  yard." 

It  was  Chris's  quickly  formed  purpose  to  take 
Mary  and  her  table  directly  to  the  lower  floor  of  the 
two-storeyed  brick  kitchen,  and  there  leave  them, 
in  order  to  rush  back  and  assist  in  the  more  general 
salvage  of  furniture.  But  this  plan  was  prevented 
by  his  companion's  frenzy  of  fear  at  the  sight  of 
the  big  house  on  fire. 


52  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

She  relinquished  her  hold  on  the  table,  and  would 
have  sped  back  into  the  flames,  but  that  Chris, 
casting  his  burden  down  on  the  turf  near  the 
kitchen,  overtook  and  restrained  the  frantic  woman 
in  his  arms. 

He  pressed  her  face  hard  to  the  dark  of  his 
shoulder,  smoothing  the  silken,  fair  head,  and 
whispering  short  soothing  phrases. 

He  felt  how  the  slim  body  trembled.  Now  and 
then  a  new  paroxysm  of  terror  caught  her,  and  she 
struggled  and  fought  to  be  free. 

"  There, — there, — now,  Miss  Mary,"  the  man 
would  say  gently,  "  don't  you  kick  up  like  that. 
You  just  bide, — you  bide  quiet-like  here, — and 
Chris  won't  let  nothing  tech  you." 

"  But  my  husband  and  the  baby !  Oh,  where  are 
they,  Chris, — I  must  find  them,"  she  lamented. 
"  They  may  be  back  there  in  the  fire.  Oh,  my 
Father  in  Heaven !  " 

"  Sophie's  safe  as  a  bug  in  a  rug  up  to  Tempey's 
room,"  Chris  assured  her.  "  And  your  man,  he's 
safe  too.  He's  helping  to  pitch  out  his  books  from 
the  liberry.  I  can  see  him  from  here.  No,  you 
don't  have  to  look. 

"  My  Good  Lawd ! "  he  cried  out,  as  he  saw  one 
of  the  tall  chimneys  totter,  and  heard  wild  warn- 
ings. "  Stand  back  there,  Mr.  Hallonquist.  You 
can't  go  in  again.  God,  man!  don't  you  see  that 
the  wall's  coming?  " 

A  great  crash  and  a  roar, — and  Chris  clapped 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  53 

a  trembling  hand  hard  down  to  Mary  Hallon- 
quist's  ear,  straining  her  head  to  his  coat  until  it 
pained  her. 

A  cry  like  a  horse  trapped  by  fire  came  from  old 
Uncle  Grief.  "  It's  got  him !  It's  fell  on  young 
Marster.  Yes,  it  did,  fer  I  seen  him.  Down  dar, 
— oh,  young  Marster!  down  dar  in  de  red,  blazin' 
timbers,  wid  de  bricks  mashin'  flat  on  his  haid !  " 

Chris  now  lifted  Mary  as  lightly  as  though  it 
were  Sophie,  and  ran  up  the  kitchen  stairs,  kick- 
ing madly  at  Tempey's  closed  door.  "  Lemme  in, 
you  black  woman !  "  he  thundered.  "  Do  you  hear 
me?  Lemme  in! " 

"Who's  dat  a-batterin'  an'  er-bangin'?" 
screamed  back  Tempey.  "  I  won't  let  dat  hell- 
fiah  in  .here.  I'm  savin'  de  baby." 

"  You  open  this  door  or  I'll  bust  it,"  said  Chris, 
in  a  tone  which  made  Tempey  quickly  turn  the 
key. 

"  I'm  totin'  Miss  Mary, — she's  fainted.  Never 
mind  about  Sophie,"  he  hurried  on,  gasping,  and, 
staggering  in  with  his  load,  laid  the  limp  drooping 
form  on  the  bed. 

"  Is  she  daid?    Oh,  Miss  Mary, — Miss  Mary " 

"  Oh,  shut  up, — you  catamount,  you ! —  "  said 
the  man  with  his  first  hint  of  weariness.  "  She's 
just  swounded,  and  a  piece  of  luck  too.  You  take 
care  of  her,  Tempey,  I  must  get  me  down  back  to 
the  fire." 

"  Reckon  I  kin  take  keer  of  my  own,  'thout  no 


54  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

po'  white  trasher  projeckin'  round  givin'  orders," 
mumbled  Tempey,  as  she  knelt  by  the  bed  and 
began  chafing  her  mistress'  slim  wrists. 

As  Chris  ran  down  the  steps,  a  new  sound  filled 
the  blazing  cup  of  the  sky.  It  was  as  if  millions 
of  lizards  and  other  small  reptiles  were  being 
burned  alive.  There  was  squeaking,  and  tiny  sharp 
screams, — then  long  hisses,  and  sometimes  one 
great  detonation,  when  a  branch  full  of  hot,  boil- 
ing sap  would  explode. 

Chris  knew  it  to  be  the  doomed  monarch,  St. 
Luke,  which  at  his  post  to  the  southeast  of  the 
mansion,  received  the  full  volume  of  flame. 

"  Well,  at  least,"  muttered  Chris,  as  he  threaded 
his  way  through  the  heaps  of  piled  up  and  broken 
furniture  that  were  set  aU  about  in  the  grass, 
"  the  old  kitchen,  and  big  ©Id  St.  Mark  won't  get 
none  of  that  fiery  furnace." 

Dr.  Stepp,  Dunrobin's  leading  physician,  was 
fortunately  present.  He  and  Chris  together 
dragged  the  unconscious  and  terribly  burned 
Dudley  Hallonquist  from  the  mass  of  ruins  that 
had  caught  him.  It  was  Chris  who  suggested  the 
ironing-room  on  the  lower  floor  next  to  the  kitchen, 
and  there  the  poor  victim  was  borne. 

Chris  always  held  it  as  one  of  his  blessings  that 
Miss  Mary  remained  practically  unconscious, 
through  the  remainder  of  that  dreadful  night. 

When  he  found  that  there  was  nothing  more 
to  do  for  poor  Hallonquist — merciful  death  having 


THE  GREAT  FIRE  55 

come  to  him  swiftly — Chris  remounted  the  stairs 
to  the  room,  which  gave  forth  the  faint  acrid  odours 
belonging  to  all  negro  dwellings, — and  drew  up  his 
chair  to  the  bed. 

Aunt  Tempey  and  Grief  were  below,  with  all 
that  was  left  of  "young  Marster,"  and  could  not 
be  prevailed  on  to  leave  him. 

The  grey  dawn  slowly  parted  the  curtains  which 
Terapey  had  closed  in  order  to  keep  out  the  fire. 

A  thin,  spectral  gleam  fell  directly  on  Mary's 
upturned  face,  making  darker  the  rim  of  long 
brown  lashes.  Her  lips  were  held  close,  and  the 
line  from  her  chin  to  her  throat  had  the  curve  of 
a  flower. 

Chris's  red  sunken  eyes  fed  on  her  face.  In  his 
heart  Jie  was  trying  to  pray. 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  he  began,  "  my  Father  in  heaven, 
— Miss  Mary  has  said  you're  my  Father,  as  well 
as  her  own,  so  it  must  be  true.  I  ain't  been  very 
good.  I  ain't  set  out  to  serve  you,  but  I'll  do  it 
from  now  till  hell  splits  and  the  coals  freeze  over, 
if  you'll  only  let  Mary  get  well.  There's  her  little 
child  beyonst  her,  a-sleeping  away  'thout  dreaming 
her  poor  Paw  is  killed.  Little  Sophie'il  be  needing 
her  Maw  more  than  ever.  We  all  needs  her.  And 
I  know  plumb  well,  Lawd,  in  your  place, — I 
couldn't  turn  my  back  square  on  an  orphint.  I 
don't  'low  as  how  you  could  do  it,  Lawd,  neether. 
I'm  a-counting  on  you  to  be  fair, — an'  I'll  promise 
to  serve  you. 


5&  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  There !  She  is  moving  her  eyes  and  her  fingers. 
She's  coming  to  life  as  I  prays.  Thankee,  Lawd, 
for  responding  so  quick-like.  I'll  promise  I'll 
never  forget.  There,  Miss  Mary,  there's  Sophie 
a- waking.  Is  you  better,  Miss  Mary,  poor  lamb? 
There,  that's  right, — try  to  set  up  a  little.  Chris 
will  boost  your  back  up  on  his  arm." 

'Mary  sprang  up  in  bed,  staring  wildly.  The 
red  sun  was  just  topping  the  trees. 

"  Oh,  the  fire, — the  fire !  "  she  moaned.  "  I  re- 
member! And  Sophie,  thank  Heaven,  she's  safe," 
Mary  cried  fervently,  catching  the  child  to  her 
breast. 

When  her  wild  eyes  turned  to  Chris  with  the 
question  "  Where  is  my  husband?  "  Chris  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PROPHECY 

FOR  several  years  after  the  fire,  little  Sophie 
and  her  mother  lived  on  in  the  Hallonquist 
kitchen.  All  the  young  widow  asked  of  her 
friends  was  to  leave  her  alone,  with  the  Hallonquist 
servants,  near  the  place  where  her  husband  had 
lived. 

There  was  nothing  heroic  in  Mary.  Like  a 
broken-winged  bird  she  trailed  through  her  days 
of  bereavement,  praying  often  and  long :  "  Help  me 
now,  O  my  Father  in  heaven,  and  give  me  strength 
to  endure." 

Young  Laird  came  almost  daily  to  see  her,  and 
with  him  always  appeared  his  second  niece,  Letty, 
a  pleasant  and  moderate  child,  more  like  a  sister 
than  a  friend  of  the  little  Sophie. 

By  this  time  Sophie  was  a  regular  attendant  at 
Aunt  Baring's  school ;  and  the  most  potent  weapon 
as  yet  used  against  the  little  girl's  mother,  was  the 
fact  that  at  recess,  the  other  pupils  taunted  the 
Hallonquist  child  with  having  to  live  in  her  own 
father's  kitchen. 

Arriving  one  fair  afternoon,  Chris  found  his 
hostess's  long  lashes  still  darkened  by  tears. 

57 


58  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Auntie  Baring  has  been  here  again,  and  she 
is  cross,"  Mary  admitted,  when  questioned.  "  Ac- 
cording to  her,  the  whole  town  has  come  to  be- 
lieve me  a  m-m-won-ster!  They  say  I  am  selfish 
to  keep  Sophie  here  living  in  a  kitchen,  when  three 
homes  have  been  offered  us.  But  I  can't  bear  to 
leave  it, — the  trees, — the  long  rows  of  lilac,  and 
the  vine-covered  foundations  where  Sophie's  big 
mansion  once  stood.  No,  I  can't,  Chris.  That's 
final.  They'll  just  have  to  think  me  a  monster !" 
The  last  sentence  came  out  with  much  spirit 
and  a  lift  of  the  golden-brown  head. 

"  You  bet  they  can  think  as  they  will,"  Chris 
gave  hearty  response.  "  As  for  us,  I  suggest  that 
you  throw  on  a  hat,  and  we  stroll  down  toward 
Hallonquist  Park." 

As  the  two  friends  approached  the  rim  of  the 
forest,  Chris  began:  "  It's  been  borne  to  my  mind 
here  of  late  that  this  here  plot  of  land,  for  all  it 
looks  so  big  and  showy,  don't  do  you  a  God's  mite 
of  good.  Come  now,  honest,  Miss  Mary, — now  does 
it?" 

"  In  practical  good, — no — I  suppose  not.    But  as 

part  of  my  daughter's  inheritance " 

"  Exactly,"  interrupted  Chris.  "  Your  daughter ! 
She's  just  where  I'm  p'inting.  Sophie's  getting  a 
big  little  girl,  as  pretty  as  posies,  and,  high-spirited, 
just  like  her  Maw.  You've  been  and  told  how 
them  children  at  Mrs.  Baring's  school  has  traduced 
her?  " 


59 

"  Yes,  yes,  Auntie  told  me.  It  was  frightful !  " 
Mary  faltered,  with  a  catch  of  the  breath.  "  You 
mean,  for  her  sake,  I  should  sell  the  old  Park,  and 
build  us  a  new  little  home  on  the  Hallonquist  Hall 
foundations?  " 

"  I  mean  just  that  thing,"  Chris  declared.  "  You 
were  sure  quick  to  grab  it." 

"  But,"  cried  his  companion,  "  there's  no  one  to 
buy.  All  my  friends  are  straitened  in  means, 
just  as  I  am.  The  war  wiped  out  riches  among 
us." 

"But  not  in  the  North  and  the  West.  There's  a 
Yankee  in  town, — a  critter  named  Whitlock.  He's 
a  nice  fellow,  too, — though  of  course  I  don't  reckon 
you'll  believe  it.  He's  buying  up  land  all  about. 
Me  and  him,"  the  speaker  pursued,  now  clearing 
his  throat,  and  with  eyes  carefully  turned  from 
"  Miss  Mary,"  "  just  happened  to  stroll  through 
this,  pawk  no  later  than  yesterday  morning." 

"  Just  happened, — Oh,  Chris !  And  what  did 
the  Northerner  say?  "  The  question  shot  out  be- 
fore Mary  could  check  it. 

Chris  laughed.  "  For  one  thing,  he  said  he  'lowed 
your  big  oaks  and  walnuts  were,  by  Jove,  the 
plumb  best  that  ever  he  has  seen." 

"  I'm  surprised  such  a  person  could  really  ap- 
preciate beauty,"  the  other  said  haughtily.  "  Those 
big  trees  are  famous  throughout  all  Virginia.  Of 
course  I  won't  sell." 

Chris's  new-sprung  jocosity  withered.     "  New 


60  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

you  look-a-here,  now,  Miss  Mary,"  he  protested. 
"  That  last  speech  of  yours  come  from  spite,  and 
not  from  good  judgment.  We  are  facing  hard 
facts.  If  you  don't  sell  to  Whitlock — if  you  turns 
down  this  offer  which  mayn't  come  again  for  ten 
years— that's  one  side  of  the  picture.  What  we 
got  to  do — you  and  me — is  to  swivel  her  round,  and 
study  the  opposyte  surface." 

"  Very  well.  Turn  it  over,"  Mary  retorted  a 
little  unkindly.  "  What  is  it  you  think  we  shall 
see?" 

"  I  discern  life  for  you  and  your  daughter  under 
a  roof  not  your  own — for  one  thing,"  Chris  gravely 
responded.  "  Somehow,  I  can't  think  of  you  caring 
for  such." 

"  No  indeed,  dear  Chris !  I  just  tried  to  act 
*  uppish,'  as  old  Tempey  says,  because  I'm  feeling 
so  wretched.  I  know  you  are  right  about  selling. 
I  am  going  to  think  of  it  hard." 

The  two  friends  had  turned,  and  were  making 
their  way  up  the  long  gentle  slope  toward  the 
three  giant  oaks,  the  two-storeyed  brick  building, 
and  the  tumbled  and  vine-wreathed  foundations, 
when,  from  out  of  the  kitchen  where  Tempey  was 
rolling  biscuit  for  supper,  rose  a  high,  minor 
hymn,— 

"  Oh,  Josuph  wuz  an  oP  man, 
An  oP,  oP  man  wuz  he; 
An'  yit  he  ma'aied  Jesus'  Maw 
Way  down  to  Galilee. 


THE  PROPHECY  61 

Yes,  Josuph  wuz  an  ol'  man 
His  teef  wuz  los'  at  sea, 
An'  yit  he  ma'aied  Mary 
Way  down  to  Galilee." 


"  Lucky  Joseph,"  sighed  Chris,  with  a  twitch  to 
his  grave,  pleasant  mouth. 

Mary  did  not  reply  except  by  a  slight,  nervous 
hastening  of  steps  on  the  grass.  Chris  gazed 
hungrily  at  her.  A  tiny  west  wind  had  sprung  up, 
and  it  stirred  the  soft  blur  on  her  temples,  lifting 
a  few  shining  hairs,  as  with  fingers,  and  as  tenderly 
replaced  the  strands. 

A  great  throb  of  love  and  of  longing  drove 
through  Christopher's  heart.  Unlike  Joseph,  he 
possessed  neither  hope  nor  equipment  to  marry 
this  exquisite  Mary;  but  his  love  had.  increased, 
year  by  year,  until  now  it  seemed  all  of  life  that 
really  existed. 

Perhaps  Mary  felt  the  dumb  longing ;  perhaps  it 
was  only  the  stir  of  that  coquetry  latent  in  most 
pious  women,  but  an  impulse  made  her  suddenly 
turn,  extending  both  hands. 

"  Oh,  Chris — dear  old  Chris,"  she  cried  out  with 
a  thrill  in  her  voice.  "  How  on  earth  could  /  get 
on  without  you !  " 

Chris  gulped.  A  swift  tide  of  ecstasy  stained 
his  big  quivering  face.  "  You  don't  have  to,"  was 
all  he  could  mutter.  "  You  don't  have  to  nohow, 
Miss  Mary." 


62  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

The  next  morning,  as  Mrs.  Hallonquist  was 
seated  upstairs  in  her  bedroom,  she  heard  from 
the  yard  below,  a  melodious  "  Howdy,  there ! 
Hello,  air  you  there,  Miss  Mary?  " 

She  ran  out  to  the  narrow  verandah  and  hung 
oyer  the  rail.  "  Why,  Chris  Laird!  What  on 
earth!  Come  right  up  and  I'll  start  the  sitting- 
room  fire." 

"  No,  you  come  down  to  me,"  countermanded 
the  guest,  grinning  broadly.  "  Whitlock's  bit. 
Hurry  down,  I'm  a-sufferin'  to  tell  it." 

Chris,  his  eyes  being  set  on  the  upper  house- 
storey,  had  failed  to  perceive,  that,  during  his  gay 
badinage  with  "  Miss  Mary,"  at  the  pane  of  a  dim 
kitchen  window  a  few  yards  straight  before  him 
two  frightened  black  faces  were  pressed. 

As  he  talked,  four  rolling  white  eyeballs  darted 
sidewise,  then  upward  to  heaven,  and  again  back 
on  a  swift  horizontal,  to  their  answering  kind. 

Mary  ran  down  the  steps  like  a  girl,  and  the 
two  dusky  faces  withdrew  into  the  general  shadow. 

"  Come  right  up  to  the  old  Hall  foundations," 
Chris  suggested.  "  That's  the  suitable  spot  for 
the  talk  we  must  do.  We  can  plan  right  off  now 
for  the  spot  to  begin  your  small  cottage " 

As  the  two  walked  away,  their  eager  excited 
voices  gradually  lowered  with  distance,  Tempey 
set  arms  akimbo,  and  glared  at  her  alarmed  spouse. 

"  What  I  tell  you !    I  said  dat  I  know  dey  was 


THE  PROPHECY  63 

cookin'  up  devilmint.  Dey  is  plannin'  to  sell 
Sophie's  Ian',  jes'  de  same  as  I  drempt  in  my 
vision.  You  'member  I  tole  you  dat  dream?  " 

Grief  squeaked  out  a  hasty  remembrance. 

"  'Bout  de  powers  of  evil,  what's  tryin'  to  projec' 
wid  Sophie's  birf  right?  " 

"  Ah'  you1  wid  Gawd's  angel,  beatia'  'em  off  wid 
a  broomstkk,"  cried  Grief,  with  nattering  swift- 
ness. 

"  An'  I's  likely  to  do  hit  ergin, — in  broad  day, 
widout  no  dreamin',"  Tempey  grimly  declared,  as 
she  began  to  draw  down  her  blue  gingham  sleeves 
over  polished  brown  forearms.  "  I's  gwinter  fol- 
low dem  white  folks  out  dar  to  de  ruins,  an'  you 
come  on  wid  me,  you  Grief  Jonsing, — an'  don't 
you  dassent  hang  back  in  de  bushes." 

With  the  words,  she  stalked  forth,  and  cast  not 
so  much  as  a  glance  toward  the  muttering  dejected 
old  man  who  obediently  walked  at  her  heels. 

Tempey  moved  cautiously,  as  the  two  white  com- 
spirators  came  within  easy  hearing.  She  paused 
among  the  high  goldenrod  plumes,  and  was  in  time 
to  hear  Mary  say  yieldingly,  "  Very  well,  I  give 
in.  I  know  it  is  best.  You  can  tell  Mr.  Whit- 
lock  that  I'll  accept  his  offer." 

"  Then,"  cried  Chris,  with  a  resonant  groan  of 
relief,  "  there's  no  time  to  be  wasted,  and  I'll  take 
on  myself  to  pace  off  the  front  line  of  your  cottage." 

He  sprang  from  the  long  prostrate  column  on 


64  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

which  he  and  Mrs.  Hallonquist  had  been  sitting, 
and  had  reached  the  top  terrace  of  brick,  when 
Tempey  drove  forth  like  a  bison. 

"You  is  wastin'  yo'  time  wid  dat  pacin'  an' 
prancin'  on  Hallonquist  Ian',  Mr.  Laird.  Dey  ain't 
goin'  to  be  no  small  cottage  set  down  whar  de  big 
house  once  stood." 

Mary  jumped  to  her  feet.  "  Mercy,  Tempey, 
you  frightened  me!  What  on  earth  do  you  mean 
by  following  us  here,  and  speaking  so  rudely?  " 

The  woman  faced  her  young  mistress  with 
sombre  defiance.  Her  large,  motionless  outline 
against  the  bright  yellow  brocade  of  the  tall 
goldenrod  had  the  pose  of  a  figure  cut  in  basalt. 

A  few  yards  past  her  shoulder  could  be  seen  the 
face  of  old  Grief,  his  plaintive  eyes  set  on  Mrs. 
Hallonquist. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  and  her  voice  matched  the  black 
basalt  mien,  "  de  las'  words  dat  my  yeung  Marster 
spoke  on  dis  earth  was, '  Mammy  Tempey,  you  look 
after  Sophie.  I  trus'  you.  Don't  take  her  to  her 
Maw, — you  take  keer  of  my  baby.' ' 

"  I  remember.  You  have  told  me  that  before," 
said  Mary,  her  face  slightly  flushed  and  embar- 
rassed, "  and  you  have  been  very  faithful  to  the 
trust  that  my  husband  imposed,  but  that  does  not 
excuse  you  for  this  interference." 

"  Me  an'  Grief  overheered  you-all  talkin'  'bout 
sellin'  de  Hallonquist  Pawk  an'  puttin'  a  low, 
white-trash  cottage  right  down  here " — she  dra- 


THE  PROPHECY  65 

matically  pointed — "  whar  de  big  Hallonquist 
Hall  once  is  stood." 

"  That's  true,  and  what  of  it?  "  Chris  now  en- 
quired, with  a  hint  of  impatience.  "  Just  get  out 
of  my  way  on  those  bricks,  and  don't  bother  Miss 
Mary." 

Mary  turned  swiftly  toward  him,  a  hand  held 
up  to  check  and  to  warn.  "  No,  Chris,  it  is  their 
affair.  Tempey  and  Grief  know  well  that  I  couldn't 
live  on  for  a  day  unless  they  were  here  with  me. 

"  Uncle  Grief, — and  you,  Tempey,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  it  has  come  to  a  choice  of  three  things, 
— to  break  up  our  life  here  on  Hallonquist  land 
and  go  to  live  with  Mrs.  Baring,  Mr.  Gaither,  or 
kind  little  Miss  Sally  Finger, — to  let  Sophie  spend 
not  only  her  childhood,  but  her  girlhood  and  young 
ladyhood  in  a  kitchen, — or,  for  the  third  possibility, 
to  accept  a  good  offer  to  sell,  and  build  a  neat,  up- 
to-date  cottage  that  we  all  can  be  proud  of." 

Tempey's  black  head  was  drooping.  All  her 
defiance  had  vanished.  "  Ef  hit  mus'  be,  hit  mus'," 
she  conceded  forlornly.  "  But  Gawd's  han'  is 
hebby.  Ef  de  new  house  mus'  come,  let  hit  stan' 
somewhar  else,  not  down  here  in  de  place  of  de 
big  one." 

"Why  not,  Tempey?  "  the  young  mistress  asked 
in  surprise.  "  It's  the  logical  spot  for  the  new 
cottage.  The  brick  walk  is  already  laid  down  to 
the  gate,  and  the  lilacs  on  either  side  are  so 
superb." 


66  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  No  po'  buckra  cabin  kin  go  in  dis  place,"  the 
black  woman  repeated  firmly  yet  with  a  rhythmic 
croon  in  her  voice.  "  I's  drempt  dreams  an'  saw 
visions.  All  de  glory  of  Ian'  an'  possessions  dey 
will  come  back  th'oo  Sophie.  De  big  Hall  it  is 
gwinter  be  built,  higher  up  an'  mo'  splendid  an' 
shinin'.  She  will  switch  th'oo  dat  mansion,  wid 
a  hunderd  silk  petticoats  rustlin'.  Her  cMlluns 
will  run  in  an  out.  I  knows  what  I's  sayin',  Miss 
Mary.  De  Angel  of  de  Lawd  he  is  tetched  me " 

"  De  Lawd's  Angel  is  tetched  her,"  wailed  Grief, 
beginning  to  sob. 

"  An'  he  sed,  '  Tempey,  good  times  is  cominV 
Lak  Job  what  was  giv'  mo'  big  houses,  an'  sheeps, 
an'  fine  wives  an'  chillun  dan  ever  de  Lawd 
tuk  to  try  him, — little  Sophie  will  come  to  her 
own. 

"  You  kin  build  dat  small  cottage,"  she  agreed, 
now  looking  at  Mary.  "  But  you  set  hit  down  dar 
in  de  shade  of  de  'Postle  St.  John.  Don't  you 
lay  down  one  squinchy  red  brick  in  de  face  of  dese 
ole  ones, — an'  de  Lawd,  He  will  prosper  yo'  days." 

Chris  still  regarded  it  all  as  a  joke,  and  was 
greatly  astonished  to  find  Mary  sobered  and 
thoughtful. 

"You  surely  can't  mean  that  you'd  pay  any  at- 
tention to  that  black  woman's  franzies,"  he  began, 
when  Tempey  and  Grief  were  both  well  out  of 
hearing. 

"  Tempey's  dreamed  dreams  before,"  aaswered 


THE  PROPHECY  67 

Mary.     "And   who   knows, — when   Sophie   is   so 

pretty " 

So  the  new  foundation  was  set  well  to  the  west 
of  the  old  oae,  in  the  shade  of  the  benevolent 
St.  John,  and  there  the  little  home  was  built. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DABK  WATERS 

FOR  a  few  happy  years  Mary  Hallonquist 
knew  only  peace,  and  a  tranquil  contentment. 
The  widow  possessed  now,  as  income,  the 
fixed  pittance  accruing  from  a  few  salted  down 
thousands  left  over  from  the  sale  of  Hallonquist 
Park,  plus  a  feeble  uncertain  amount,  supposed  to 
be  paid  in  twice-yearly  from  her  shares  in  the  shot 
tower  works. 

By  the  time  that  Sophie  was  ten  years  of  age, 
and  the  two  servants  grown  older  and, — as  is  in- 
variably the  way  of  their  race, — more  childish  and 
exigent,  Mary  found  herself  facing  a  winter 
threatening  worse  than  privation.  The  black 
spectre  of  debt  leered  already  from  out  of  the 
quite  empty  coal  cellar,  and  whispered  a  hundred 
small  needs  which,  for  some  malign  reason,  ap- 
peared to  have  come  all  at  once. 

'Apart  from  the  household  demands,  and  Sophie's 
insistence  on  clothing  which  would  keep  the  other 
girls  at  school  from  making  fun  of  her  Mrs.  Hal- 
lonquist found  that  the  taxes  on  her  vine-covered 
cottage  were  a  different  thing  from  the  few  dollars 
paid  for  the  former  kitchen  residence. 


DARK  WATERS  69 

From  just  after  noon,  on  a  certain  bleak  day  in 
November,  a  thin  powdered  snow,  the  first  of  the 
season,  had  been  steadily  falling. 

In  the  house  Mary  Hallonquist  moved  about 
restlessly.  She  would  look  at  the  clock  on  the 
mantel,  and  then  go  to  the  window  again,  staring 
upward  to  watch  the  grey  skies.  She  was  hoping 
the  clouds  might  pass  before  Sophie  started  home 
from  school. 

After  one  of  the  long  brooding  pauses,  Mary 
turned  and  went  out  through  the  farce  of  a  small 
"  butler's  pantry  "  directly  into  the  kitchen. 

Tempey  sat  close  to  the  stove  peeling  onions. 
Her  bowed  head  was  wrapped  in  a  square  of  dark 
crimson  cloth,  an  unmistakable  sign  that  what 
Uncle  Grief  called  "  de  ole  lady's  tantrums  "  had 
taken  demoniac  possession. 

Mary  sighed.  She  had  worries  enough  of  her 
own,  though  lacking  Tempey's  naive  way  of  pro- 
claiming them. 

"  Have  our  groceries  come  yet?  "  the  mistress 
inquired,  in  a  voice  rather  meek  and  concessive. 

"  What's  done  come  is  right  dar  on  de  table," 
grumbled  Tempey,  her  head  nodding  sidewise.  "  If 
dey'd  bin  snakes  dey  sho'  would  a'  bit  you,"  she 
added,  in  a  cadence  that  plainly  implied  she  would 
not  have  regretted  the  actual  presence  of  serpents. 

Mary  went  to  the  small  heap  of  parcels,  nerv- 
ously fingering  each.  She  was  trying  to  compute, 
with  a  mind  devoid  of  all  mathematical  finesse, 


70  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

what  the  outlay  had  cost.  From  this  effort,  her 
troubled  thoughts  turned  to  the  hope  that,  since 
the  snow  was  so  heavy  nothing  had  been  forgotten, 
when  Tempey  as  if  she  had  guessed  what  her  mis- 
tress was  thinking,  growled  out,  "  We  ain't  got  a 
drap  er  dat  se-yup — an'  dat  grocer-man  nigger 
ain't  brought  me  my  risin'-powder." 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  cried  the  anxious  housekeeper. 
"  Are  you  sure  that  you  mentioned  the  baking 
powder?  You  sometimes  forget.  We  can't  do 
without  those  two  things.  Sophie  eats  almost 
nothing  for  breakfast,  but  her  batter-cakes  and 
molasses." 

Aunt  Tempey  tore  off  the  acrid  red  skins  with- 
out comment. 

"  I'm  afraid  Uncle  Grief  will  have  to  go  back  to 
town  right  away,  before  th-e  snow  gets  any  thicker," 
Mary  suggested. 

"  Grief  wuz  up  half  de  night,  an'  me  wid  him,  wid 
dat  mis'ry  in  his  side." 

The  much  harassed  Mary  gave  a  low  sound 
meant  for  sympathy,  came  out  to  the  centre  of  the 
room,  paused,  looked  down  at  Tempey,  who  re- 
mained unresponsive,  and  then  in  a  sudden  de- 
cision opened  the  door  that  led  out  to  the  back 
porch  and  called  "  Grief,  Uncle  Grief,  please  come 
here  a  minute." 

At  the  opening  of  the  door  Tempey  down  by  the 
stove  shuddered  audibly,  and  jerked  at  the  front- 
end  of  the  moth-eaten  grey  shawl  that  she  wore. 


DARK  WATERS  71 

"  I  do  hate  to  ask  him,"  murmured  the  offender, 
and  closed  the  aperture  hastily. 

Uncle  Grief,  having  heard,  emerged  from  the 
upper  brick  kitchen,  from  the  room  that  once  had 
been  Mary's.  Descending  the  creaking  stairs,  he 
had  to  move  sidewise,  with  both  hands  on  the  rail- 
ing. Tempey  glanced  through  the  window,  and  the 
sight  seemed  to  anger  her. 

"  Dis  here  wedder's  de  debbil  fer  my  ole  man's 
rheumatics,"  she  grunted.  "  Ez  fer  me,"  she  added 
defiantly,  "  I  hole's  in  my  bref  ' twixt  here  an'  my 
room,  fer  fear  dat  plew-rissy  gwinter  ketch  me." 

Uncle  Grief  shuffled  in,  displaying  his  wide 
toothless  gums  in  a  gallant  attempt  at  a  smile. 
He  was  wrapped  in  an  old  patchwork  quilt,  and  his 
black  face  and  hands  showed  the  thin  bluish  scales 
which  cold  spreads  on  the  skin  of  a  darky. 

Unlike  Tempey,  he  held  no  resentments,  and 
when  Mary,  now  almost  tearful,  asked  if  he  felt 
well  enough  to  go  for  the  syrup,  Grief  answered 
cheerily,  "  Dat's  what  my  ole  bandy  laigs  is  here 
fer,  Miss  Ma'ay, — ez  long  ez  dey'll  ca'ary  me." 

A  contemptuous  snort  from  the  onions  was  suc- 
cessfully ignored. 

A  still  half -hour  fled.  Mary,  wisely  enough,  had 
retired  to  the  dining-room,  where  the  one  all-day 
fire  of  the  house  was  burning. 

At  the  end  of  this  time,  Uncle  Grief,  his  errand 
accomplished,  his  bare  fingers  clutching  the  jug  in 
five  separate  cramps  with  the  cold,  was  thank- 


72  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

fully  approaching  the  gate  that  led  up  through  the 
lilacs,  when  a  small  dancing  figure,  in  a  faded 
green  coat  rather  short  for  its  legs,  caught  up  from 
behind  him,  and  rushing  ahead,  wheeled  about  to 
inquire  rather  pertly,  "  What  you  doing  out  here 
in  the  snow,  Uncle  Grief?  Where  you  think  you're 
going?  " 

"  Don't  you  pester  me,  chile,  wid  yo'  '  what's ' 
an'  yo'  <  whar's '  in  dis  wedder.  Jes'  you  trot  yo'- 
se'f  by.  You  knows  well  dat  I  ain't  gwyin'  nowhar. 
I's  don'  bin  whar's  I's  gwyin'." 

Mrs.  Hallonquist  sped  to  the  door  as  she  heard 
Sophie's  skip  on  the  gravel. 

"  Oh,  Sophie — how  thankful  I  am  that  you  are 
here  safely.  Did  you  get  your  feet  wet?  " 

"  I  should  say  they  were,"  answered  Sophie, 
perching  herself  like  a  crane  on  one  leg,  in  order 
to  turn  up  the  other,  and  display  a  damp  sole. 

"  What  can  you  expect  when  my  shoes  both  have 
holes  in  the  bottom,"  she  began,  dancing  a  laughing 
jig  on  the  drugget.  "  They  are  chuck  full  of  snow 
this  minute.  It's  beginning  to  melt.  Ouch, — ouch ! 
and  it  tickles." 

"  You  say  there  are  holes  in  those  shoes, — those 
new  shoes?  "  cried  Mary,  aghast.  "  Why  it  doesn't 
seem  possible,  yet." 

"  You've  got  funny  ideas  of  '  yet,' "  the  child 
answered  saucily.  "  I've  worn  'em  for  ages  and 
ages, — and  I  don't  want  them  half-soled  this  time, 
T  can  tell  you.  I  hate  patched-up  things.  Don't 


DARK  WATERS  73 

none  of  the  other  girls  wear  'em,  now  they  are 
getting  so  big." 

Mary  made  no  reply,  but  in  silence  held  open 
the  dining-room  door,  while  Sophie  danced  in 
under  the  slender  black-clad  arm,  and  threw  her- 
self down  to  the  rug  before  a  scanty  coal  fire. 

"You  ought  to  see  old  Uncle  Grief's,"  laughed 
out  Sophie,  as  she  pulled  off  the  first  of  her  shoes. 
"  They  are  nothing  but  patches,  and  one  rusty  old 
toe  was  sticking  right  out  on  the  snow,  like  the 
head  of  a  turtle." 

"  Sophie !  &o-phie !  "  the  mother  exclaimed 
sadly.  "  I  can't  think  where  you  get  this, — this, 
— lack  of  kindness.  It  doesn't  seem  possible  my 
own  little  girl  could  be  so  cruel,— and  I've  read 
you  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  every  night  and  morn- 
ing of  my  life." 

When  the  old  man  returned,  Mary  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  meet  him.  "  Oh,  thank  you  so  much, 
Uncle  Grief,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  Now  you  sit 
here  in  front  of  the  stove,  and  I'm  going  to  make 
you  a  big  cup  of  coffee  myself." 

"  Thank  you  kinely,  Miss  Ma'ay,"  said  old  Grief, 
sitting  down  to  the  chair  she  was  holding. 
"  Coffee'll  tas'e  moughty  fine,  but  I  knows  sumpin' 
else  would  tas'e  better." 

Mary  laughed  into  the  twinkling  old  eyes. 

"  You  shall  have  it  right  now,"  she  declared, 
hurrying  back  to  the  dining-room.  Tempey,  her 
shoulders  heretofore  rigidly  averted,  in  the  obvious 


74  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

excuse  of  making  biscuit  for  dinner,  turned  to  her 
fond  spouse  an  African  smile. 

As  Tempey  was  clearing  off  the  dishes,  after  the 

ur  o'clock  dinner,  Mrs.  Hallonquist  said,  "  Tell 
Grief  that  the  kitchen  wood-box  must  be  piled,  and 
he  had  better  get  us  a  soap  box  of  coal  as  well, 
and  set  it  out  on  the  back  porch.  I  don't  think 
the  scuttles  will  hold  quite  enough." 

"  Dat  coal-pile's  erbout  on  its  las'  laigs,  Miss 
Mary.  Grief  is  tooken  his  rake  to  de  leavin's." 

"  I  know  it.  We  must  have  more  coal,"  answered 
Mary,  her  troubled  expression  returning. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Hallonquist  rose  early. 
Without  waiting  for  Tempey,  Mary  wrapped  her- 
self close  in  a  certain  old  scorched  dressing-gown, 
and  kneeling  in  front  of  the  hearth  began  to  make 
the  fire. 

At  the  first  leap  and  glare  of  the  "  lightwood," 
and  the  answering  crackle  of  coals,  the  mother 
glanced  quickly  about  toward  the  tumbled  bronze 
head  on  its  pillow.  No,  the  little  girl  had  not 
moved. 

Against  the  old  cracked  window-shades  of  dark 
green,  a  faint,  pinkish  glow  announced  that  the 
storm  was  over  and  the  day  would  be  sunlit  and 
clear. 

Mary  pulled  up  one  shade  by  an  inch,  and  once 
more  looked  around  at  her  daughter. 

The  young  face,  disclosed  by  the  double. reflec- 
tion of  firelight  and  dawn,  lay  upturned  in  the 


DARK  WATERS  75 

colours  of  roses.  Mary's  heart  kindled  and  leaped 
like  the  fire,  at  the  sight  of  her  child's  vivid  beauty. 
What  a  gift  it  might  prove!  And  alas — what  a 
temptation ! 

To  guide  such  a  being,  possessed  not  only  of 
physical  charm,  but  a  spirit  already  intolerant  and 
self-willed,  and  neglectful  of  others,  was  a  charge 
that  at  times  seemed  greater  than  the  mother  could 
bear. 

And  yet — oh,  how  lovely!  How  much  sweeter 
and  finer  and  cleverer  her  child  was  than  all  of  the 
other  children! 

At  the  moment,  a  sound  of  slow  footsteps  crunch- 
ing painfully  through  the  snow,  and  the  ring  of  an 
old  iron  shovel,  not  being  carried,  but  dragging,  as 
if  already  too  heavy,  caused  Mary  to  stoop  and 
peer  out.  It  was  old  Uncle  Grief  on  his  way  to 
clear  Sophie's  footpath. 

She  groped  her  way  back  to  the  hearth,  and 
sinking  down  to  her  knees  by  a  rocking-chair  hung 
with  small  garments  cried,  in  desperate  pleading, 
— though  in  tones  carefully  muffled  that  Sophie 
might  not  overhear : 

"  Oh,  my  Father  in  heaven — Thou  dear  friend  of 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless — look  down  on  me 
now — on  us  both — for  dark  waters  are  rising. 
Help  me  first  with  my  child.  I  can't  understand 
her.  She  seems  slipping  away  from  control.  She's 
so  different  from  her  father  and  from  me,  I  don't 
know  how  to  judge  her  correctly.  When  she's  cruel 


76  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

like  that — as  she  was  with  poor  Grief — when  she 
says  things  so  heartless,  I  just  don't  know  what  to 
think  or  to  do.  It  may  be  all  my  fault  for  loving 
not  wisely  the  child  which  Thou  gavest.  Perhaps 
I  have  placed  the  gift  before  the  great  Giver,  but 
she's  all  that  I  have  now  on  earth,  and  I  could 
not  help  spoiling  her.  But  I'll  be  sterner,  less  in- 
dulgent  " 

A  sound  came  from  the  bed.  Mary  stopped,  lift- 
ing terrified  eyes.  The  child  was  beginning  to 
stir  from  her  long  night  of  slumber.  The  crimson 
lips  parted  over  teeth  dazzlingly  white,  she  gave 
a  low  cry,  half  impatience,  half  laughter,  and  then 
with  a  quick  pettish  gesture  flung  herself  around, 
and  snuggled  once  more  to  the  covers. 

"  And  it  is  not  only  in  managing  Sophie — dear 
Father,"  Mary  went  on,  continuing  her  prayer 
when  the  child  remained  motionless,  "  that  I  make 
this  plea  to  Thy  throne  for  a  wiser  and  more  Christ- 
like  understanding  in  bringing  her  up  to  Thy 
service — but  in  the  needs  for  our  poor  perishing 
bodies — I  am  in  very  sore  straits.  Two  faithful 
servants  as  well  as  my  child  are  dependent  entirely 
upon  me.  My  small  worldly  possessions  are  never 
enough  to  meet  our  many  demands.  All  three  of 
them,  likewise  myself,  are  in  need  of  new  shoes 
and  more  winter  clothing.  I  owe  Aunt  Jemima  for 
milk,  and  kind  Mr.  Ham  for  some  groceries.  The 
coal  is  all  out.  Help  me,  Lord,  from  Thy  boundless 
compassion.  Show  me  how " 


DARK  WATERS  77 

"  I'll  show  you  how,"  cried  Sophie,  springing 
down  to  the  floor  with  a  bound.  "  You  say  awful 
long  prayers,  don't  you,  Mamma?  I  always  make 
mine  pretty  short." 


CHAPTER  IX 

HARD  TIMES  AND  HARDWOOD  IN  DUNROBIN 

WITH  Sophie  astir,  the  small  room  was 
at  once  bright  with  laughter  and  pretty 
confusion. 

"  Oh,  what  a  splendid  big  fire ! "  she  cried,  run- 
ning toward  it.  "  And  my  old  shoes  are  dry,  even 
if  the  holes  haven't  shrivelled,"  she  exclaimed,  lift- 
ing one  up  and  thrusting  a  finger  through  a  worn 
place. 

"  You  can  wear  Mother's  rubbers  this  morning," 
said  Mary.  "  And  besides,  I  am  going  to  write  you 
a  note  to  Miss  Theresa  that  you  can  take  there 
right  after  school,  and  charge  you  a  new  pair." 

"  Goody  gout!  "  triumphed  Sophie.  "  Can  I  get 
any  kind  that  I  want?  " 

"  I — I — reckon  so,  but  remember,  you  can  have 
only  the  one  pair  and  they  must  do  for  both  Sunday 
and  school." 

"  Letty's  got  two,"  Sophie  remarked,  with  a 
note  of  deep  envy. 

"  You  say  that  Letty  has  two  pairs  of  new  shoes 
all  at  once?  "  the  mother  interrupted,  this  one  fact 
having  stopped  all  further  attention  to  her 
daughter's  demands.  Mary  knew  that  James 

78 


HARD  TIMES  IN  DUNROBIN  79 

Gaither  was  about  as  hard  pressed  in  his  business 
as  she,  with  her  half -rationed  income. 

"  Yes,  two  pairs,  and  Mildred's  got  loads  of  new 
things,"  the  childish  voice  rattled  on,  nothing 
daunted.  "  She's  got  a  thousand  times  more  than 
Letty — but  of  course  she  would  have.  She's  old 
Miss  Ossie's  pet.  I  hate  Mildred,"  Sophie  cried, 
switching  clear  away  from  a  button.  "  She's  so 
stuck  up  and  fussy,  and  puts  on  such  ridiculous 
airs." 

With  Sophie  at  school,  Mary  tidied  the  bed- 
room and  then  sat  again  by  the  fire.  She  was 
trying  once  more  to  solve  the  sinister  problems  of 
bills,  taxes  and  the  many  demands  she  foresaw  in 
the  near  future,  when  her  door  was  burst  in  with- 
out warning,  and  Tempey,  black,  round  and  ex- 
cited, boomed  in. 

"  Grief's  done  took  sumpin'  tar-ble,  Miss  Mary. 
He  can't  draw  in  his  bref  widout  screamin',  an'  de 
fever  it's  burnin'  him  up  lak  a  bobby-cue.  How  we 
gwinter  git  holt  of  a  doctor?  " 

Mary  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Is  he  really  so  ill? 
Why,  of  course  I  will  go  for  the  doctor.  Run  back 
to  him,  Tempey.  You  know  what  to  do  in  such 
cases  better  than  I.  Stop.  Get  that  bottle  of 
brandy  from  the  sideboard.  I'll  throw  on  my 
things  in  a  minute." 

In  her  worn  kid  shoes,  minus  the  shielding  tips, 
pre-empted  by  Sophie,  and  wearing  wraps  quite 


80  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

inadequate  for  the  season,  Mrs.  Hallonquist  ran 
down  the  walk. 

To  her  great  relief,  she  found  Dr.  Stepp  in  hig 
office.  The  two  drove  back  furiously  together,  in 
the  doctor's  old  high-seated  buggy. 

Tempey,  crying  aloud,  leaned  over  her  balustrade 
to  beckon.  The  doctor  went  up  the  stairs  like  an 
athlete.  Slowly  following  the  doctor,  Mary  paused 
at  the  wide-open  door  just  in  time  to  hear  Tempey 
sob,  "  He's  a-dyin'  now,  Doctor.  One  foot's  in  de 
Jordin  a'ready.  Oh,  my  ole  man,  my  ole  nigger 
husband, — Gawd  hab  mercy !  " 

"  Stop  that  caterwaulin',  woman,"  Dr.  Stepp 
called  back  sharply,  "  or  you'll  push  the  man  over 
in  your  Jordin  before  I've  had  half  a  chance  to  get 
him  away." 

It  was  a  long,  hard-fought  battle  to  keep  the 
"  pneumony  "  from  drawing  the  last  gasp  of  life 
from  old  Grief's  meagre  body. 

Tempey  was  head-nurse,  but  Mary  was  her  tire- 
less assistant.  Bills  were  run  up  to  desperate 
figures.  There  were  medicines,  plasters  and  tonics 
at  Mr.  Mayberry's  drug  store;  jellies,  wine,  tapioca 
and  cornstarch  at  the  grocery;  at  James  Weldon 
&  Co.'s  there  were  two  soft  blankets  bought  to  re- 
place the  quaint  odds  and  ends  of  old  patchwork, 
half -burned  window  curtains  and  a  horse  cloth  that 
had  hitherto  covered  him. 

Sophie  gave  way  to  a  tempest  of  anger  when  told 
that  she  could  not  be  given  the  red  coat  and  hat. 


HARD  TIMES  IN  DUNROBIN  81 

"  You  can  buy  all  those  things  for  a  no-count  old 
nigger  man  over  the  kitchen,"  she  stormed,  "  while 
your  own  child  is  a  disgrace.  I'm  the  onliest  girl 
at  our  school  that  is  wearing  her  coat  for  the 
third  year.  The  sleeves  are  so  short  that  every- 
body is  making  fun  of  me.  I'll  stop  going  to  school 
— that's  what  I'll  do!  And  nobody  can  make  me, 
if  I  say  I  won't  go.  I'd  be  glad  if  that  triflin' 
old  Grief  would  die  dead  this  minute.  But  even 
if  he  did  die,"  she  added,  on  a  long  shivering  breath 
of  fury,  "you'd  spend  every  cent  on  his  funeral, 
and  I  wouldn't  get  anything  after  all." 

Before  the  horror  of  this,  her  child's  first  open 
defiance,  Mary  covered  her  face.  She  rocked  back 
and  forth  without  speaking.  No  healing  tears 
came. 

"  Oh,  my  God— oh,  my  God,"  her  flayed  heart 
was  moaning,  "must  I  drink-  this  last  cup  of 
agony,  too?  " 

When,  three  weeks  later,  the  old  servant  Was 
pronounced  "  on  the  mend,"  Mary  Hallonquist 
faced  an  immediate  crisis  of  debt. 

She  must  raise  money  somehow, — and  there 
seemed  but  one  venture  possible,  which  was  to  try 
and  sell  her  shares  in  the  shot  tower  business. 
They  had  been  bought  at  par,  one  hundred  dollars 
paid  for  each,  and  to  realize  on  ten  of  them  would 
make  her  comfortable  for  a  full  year  to  come. 

Mary  recounted  all  of  Sophie's  statements  con- 
cerning Letty's  new  clothes,  and  the  fine  things  for 


82  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Mildred.     Surely  this  must  mean  that  the  shot 
tower  industry  was  improving. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  much  relieved  at  hav- 
ing reached  a  final  decision,  "  the  very  next  day 
when  it's  fine,  I'll  take  those  shares  to  James 
Gaither." 

There  were  hours  of  heart-breaking  search  in 
the  old  Chippendale  desk  before  they  were  dis- 
covered, and  then,  firmly  clutching  the  age-yellowed 
envelope  in  her  black-cotton-gloved  hand,  Mary 
went  into  the  town. 

James  chanced  to  be  alone  in  his  office.  Sur- 
prised and  delighted  to  welcome  so  rare  a  visitor, 
Mr.  Gaither  sprang  up,  insisting  that  Mary  take 
the  one  comfortable  chair,  a  leathern  one,  in  front 
of  his  desk. 

Mary  shook  her  fair  head  until  the  crepe  folds 
of  her  veil  all  tossed  coquettishly.  "  No,1'  she 
smiled,  "  I'm  afraid  of  one  that  wobbles  like  that, 
it  might  spill  me  out.  I'd  prefer  this  old  straight 
chair.  It  is  safer." 

"  As  you  will,"  he  assented. 

"  I  have  come  here  to  ask  you,"  said  Mary,  going 
at  once  to  the  point,  "  whether  now  is  not  a  good 
time  to  sell  out  my  shares  in  your  business?  " 

James  Gaither  looked  doubtful,  and  the  corners 
of  his  pleasant  mouth  twitched  half  humorously. 
"  As  a  stockholder,  and  a  person  enjoying  the  en- 
tire confidence  of  James  Gaither  &  Co.,"  he  began, 
"you're  entitled  to  know  the  full  truth." 


83 

Mary  leaned  forward  breathlessly. 

"  Don't  look  like  that,  Mary.  The  facts  are  un- 
pleasant. That  old  tower  isn't  earning  the  mortar 
that  holds  its  red  bricks  together.  As  an  enter- 
prise— that  is,  as  a  money -making  concern— it 
simply  doesn't  exist." 

"  But,"  ventured  Mary,  her  eyes  wide  and 

troubled,  "  I  had  thought — Sophie  said "  she 

paused,  stammering. 

Gaither  laughed.  "  I  begin  to  catch  on.  Sophie 
said  Letty  was  getting  a  whole  lot  of  pretties? 
Well,  she  is,  and  there  are  still  possibilities,  in  the 
old  shot  tower.  Orders  come  trickling  in  now 
and  then.  But  the  machinery  is  rusty  and  the 
methods  out  of  date.  It  needs  new  blood,  young 
blood,  a  touch  of  the  infernal  Yankee  hustle." 

"  Then  where ?  "  Mary  gently  reminded  him. 

"  Oh,  the  money-ease  at  the  moment.  The  truth 
is,  Mary,  Whitlock,  who  bought  up  Hallonquist 
Park,  has  bought  from  me  a  long  stretch  of  river 
bank  just  across  from  Dunrobin.  And  I  can  tell 
you  this  much,  the  cash  came  in  pretty  handy. 
Suppose,"  he  suggested,  "  since  I've  capital  to  put 
in  the  works,  and  it's  sure  to  pay  better  dividends, 
you  let  me  advance  you  a  few  hundreds,  taking 
some  of  those  shares  as  collateral?  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  sell,  altogether." 

"  I  don't  know  very  much  about  business,"  the 
trouble,  deep  down  in  the  blue  eyes,  beginning  to 
lighten  a  trifle.  "  But  I'm  ready  to  do  anything 


84  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

— yes, — anything  that  you  think  best.  I  need 
money  so  terribly!  Why,  James — "  she  went  on, 
and  then  paused,  as  if  doubting  whether  she  had 
the  courage  to  finish,  "  for  the  first  time  in  all  of 
my  life — I  am  actually — in  debt." 

Gaither  smiled  at  her  horrified  expression. 
"  That  is  nothing  so  dreadful.  For  years  debt  has 
been  as  much  a  part  of  my  being  as  the  skin  on 
my  bones.  I'll  be  feeling  positively  nude  with 
all  of  my  liabilities  settled." 

Mary  laughed  a  small  protest.  "  Very  well,  dear 
James,  I'll  be  glad  to  have  you  advance  me  as  much 
as  you  think  the  shares  are  worth." 

"  You  may  call  for  the  half  of  my  kingdom," 
avowed  the  gallant  James,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  scarlet  cheque-book,  the  very  colour  that 
Sophie's  new  coat  and  hat  were  to  be. 

"  Oh,  not  that  much !  "  cried  Mary,  taking  him 
literally. 

When  this  delicate  point  was  adjusted,  Mrs. 
Hallonquist  accepted  a  rather  fat  cheque,  and  after 
thanking  him  with  such  pretty  vehemence  that 
James  longed  to  embrace  her,  she  hurried  home, 
her  spirit  as  light  as  the  flakes  of  silvery  milk- 
weed sending  out  its  frail  sheen  to  the  wind. 

One  happy  year  followed  another.  Sophie  grew 
prettier  than  ever — but  alas,  Sophie  knew  it  only 
too  well !  There  was  never  an  end  to  the  hats,  the 
frocks  and  the  finery  she  wanted. 

The  shot  tower  throve  for  a  while,  but  soon 


HARD  TIMES  IN  DUNROBIN  85 

fell  back  to  its  former  condition  of  barely  meeting 
expenses,  and  paid  interest  to  its  shareholders  with 
a  maddening  irregularity. 

When  Sophie  was  well  into  her  teens,  a  wave 
of  excitement  broke  over  Dunrobin.  On  the  op- 
posite banks  of  the  Rydal,  the  "  Whitlock  Com- 
pany "  of  Chicago  began  setting  up  a  huge  modern 
factory,  over  the  door  of  which  was  inscribed  in 
tall  gold  letters  the  statement  that  here  was  to 
be  the  "  Whitlock  Hardwood  Furniture  Factory." 

But  when  the  first  hardwood  converted  into 
chairs  and  tables  was  provided  by  the  famous  old 
walnuts  and  beeches  of  Hallonquist  Park,  poor 
Mary's  torment  was  tragic  to  witness.  She  blamed 
herself  first,  then  turned  upon  Chris,  declaring  that 
the  whole  horror  was  his  fault. 

"  It's  all  your  fault !  "  she  repeated  again  and 
again.  "  Yours  and  James  Gaither's  too, — for 
forcing  me  into  selling  Hallonquist  Park.  When 
Sophie  is  grown  up,  and  knows  what  you  have  done, 
I'm  sure  she  never  will  forgive  either  one  of  you." 

That  night  Chris  inscribed  in  his  Memory  Book 
the  ensuing  reflections: 

"  Ladies  looks  at  things  different  from  men.  They 
seem  to  be  made  without  a  hitching-post  handy.  When 
they  feelings  are  roused,  they  go  prancing  and  hitting 
the  air  like  a  colt  what  is  stirred  up  a  wasp-nest.  It 
makes  you  feel  kinder  pitiful  toward  them,  and  not 
answer  back. 

Miss  Mary's  been  faulting  me  forrards  and  back- 


86  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

wards  all  day,  because  she  says  it  was  me  who  induced 
her  to  sell  what  she  calls  Sophie's  birthright.  She 
don't  nowise  remember,  that  hadn't  she  sold  it,  she'd 
be  living  still  in  the  kitchen  without  a  cottage  at  all. 
But  it  ain't  safe  to  ask  a  high-spirited  lady,  to  re- 
member a  commonsense  thing, — not  enduring  the  time 
she  is  prancing. 

That  old  park  sure  has  done  me  one  mighty  good 
turn,  if  never  ^iot)  ,  for  a  few  days  agone,  I  found 
at  the  foot  of  an  oak,  a  fine  type  of  the  smartest  spider 
of  all.  I  calls  her  Miss  Lizzy  Lycosa, — the  Lycosa 
being  her  real  name  as  I  found  in  a  book,  while  I  stuck 
on  '  Lizzy '  for  her  Christian  one. 

She  is  here  in  my  room  at  this  minute,  her  cunning 
round  ball  full  of  eggs,  hitched  to  one  leg  so  faithful. 
Every  day  of  her  life,  she  crawles  up  to  my  window, 
sticks  her  nose  todes  the  floor,  and  with  four  of  her 
hind-legs,  turns  that  ball  round  and  round  in  the  sun, 
till  I  think  the  eggs  will  get  dizzy.  They  oughter 
hatch  soon,  and  then  all  the  orphin  asylum  will  climb 
onto  her  back,  like  the  one  that  I  found  with  Miss 
Mary,  long  ago,  at  the  foot  of  the  rectory  fence.  Some 
thing  or  other  must  have  come  along  and  et  it,  for  I 
never  could  find  her  again." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LOOPHOLE 

A  FEW  years  after  this,  on  a  certain  chill  eve- 
ning in  autumn,  the  Gaithers  were  circled 
around  their  big  dining-room  table,  to  a  meal 
that  was  both  scanty  and  poor. 

It  was  Chris,  quiet  Chris  whom  few  things  es- 
caped, who  noticed  that  Miss  Ossie  was  eating 
nothing. 

"  What's  wrong  with  you,  Sis?"  he  asked  kindly. 
"  You  haven't  so  much  as  lifted  a  forkful." 

"  I'll,  thank  you  to  attend  to  your  own  business, 
Christopher,"  she  snapped  in  response. 

Ossie's  brother  went  back  to  silence,  as  a  turtle 
retires  to  its  shell.  "  Poor  old  Sis, — it's  the 
neuralgy  like  Maw  had  so  long,"  he  was  thinking. 
"  If  she'd  jes'  bind  it  round  with  a  stockin',  she'd 
ease  it, — but  uc-cose  Sis  is  too  citified  now  for 
any  sech  mounting  contraptions." 

It  was  Mildred  who  first  dared  to  speak.  "  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  you  weren't  feeling  well,  Auntie 
dear?  "  she  inquired  sweetly.  "  Letty  and  I  would 
have  looked  after  the  dinner,  and  brought  you  some- 
thing nice  to  your  room." 

Ossie's  rigid  lips  softened.  "  I  know  that  you 

87 


88  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

would,  Mildred,"  she  said  trying  bravely  to  smile. 
"  You  are  always  so  thoughtful."  A  twinge  of  fierce 
pain  caught  her  nerves. 

Letty  pushed  back  her  chair  with  a  rasp  that 
made  Miss  Laird  shiver.  "  How  can  any  of  us 
eat  this  supper?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  regular 
poor  white-trash  stuff, — it  is — it's  hardly  fit  for 
the  darkies." 

"  Letty,  leave  the  table  at  once ! "  Mr.  Gaither 
cried  out.  "  You're  to  go  to  your  room,  and  to 
remain  there  until  you  are  ready  to  offer  an  apology 
to  your  Aunt." 

"  I  was  leaving  the  table  anyway,"  cried  the 
rebellious  Letitia.  "  You're  all  of  you  as  cross  as 
two  sticks." 

"  Letitia  is  right,"  said  Miss  Ossie,  her  thin  face 
the  colour  of  wax.  "  This  ain't  the  food  you  girls 
should  be  eating,  or  James  either.  With  us  moun- 
tain folk,"  she  added  bitterly,  "  it  don't  make  much 
diffrunce — we're  usen  to  worse.  But  I'm  doing  the 
best  I  can,  James,"  she  cried  now,  as  if  desperation 
had  given  her  courage.  "  You  and  me  has  just 
got  to  talk  after  dinner.  Can  you  come  to  the 
library?  " 

"Why,  surely,  my  dear,"  answered  James, 
nervously  clearing  his  throat.  "  In  fact,  I  was 
on  the  point  of  suggesting  a  conference.  I've  a 

letter "  Here  a  thin,  bloodless  hand  began 

to  feel  about  in  his  pockets.  "  I  received  it  today. 
It  may  prove  important." 


THE  LOOPHOLE  89 

Miss  Ossie  squared  her  shoulders,  and  marched 
from  the  room  with  the  stride  of  a  grenadier. 

James  glanced  up,  started,  rose  and  then  fol- 
lowed with  much  less  assurance. 

As  the  two  reached  the  small  private  "  den," 
where  the  troubled  man  brooded  through  most  of 
his  evenings,  he  began :  "  There's  a  letter — but 
won't  you  sit  down?  " 

Ossie  lowered  herself  into  the  big  cushioned 
chair  which  her  brother-in-law  placed  just  in  front 
of  the  fire.  Every  motion  she  made  was  restrained, 
tense  and  somehow  a  menace. 

"  I've  come  to  the  end,  James,"  she  told  him. 
"  I've  used  all  my  own  and  a  lot  of  poor  Christo- 
pher's money  besides.  He  don't  dream  it  yet ;  our 
account  is  all  in  my  name.  Poor  old  Chris,  he 
knows  he's  a  fool  when  it  comes  to  handling 
money ! " 

"  He  is  no  more  stupid  than  I,"  Gaither  said 
sorrowfully.  "  I'm  about  at  the  end  too — of  all 
things.  I  am  practically  a  bankrupt,"  he  groaned. 
"  I  can't  hold  it  back  any  longer.  We  must  face 
ruin,  perhaps  worse,  very  soon." 

"  But  Mildred !  "  gasped  Ossie,  her  eyes  fright- 
ened and  feral,  as  she  saw  danger  nearing  the  one 
being  she  adored.  "  She  is  a  young  lady  now, — 
with  admirers.  Three  young  men  have  addressed 
her  a'ready.  Mildred  can't  do  with  less  than  she 
has." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  she  must, — Letty,  too ;  not  to 


90  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

mention  yourself,  my  kind,  faithful  sister,"  the 
man  said,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

Ossie  sat  very  still,  but  her  mind  was  a  chained 
thing  that  struggled  and  tore  at  its  bondage. 

"What  was  that  about  a  letter?  "  she  stammered 
at  length.  "  You  said  it  might  be  important." 

"  Yes,"  said  James.  "  I'd  forgotten.  It's  a 
faint  chance  indeed.  And  yet — who  can  tell,"  he 
exclaimed,  essaying  more  lightness,  "  that  it  won't 
turn  out  to  be  the  proverbial  straw ! " 

"  And  this  ain't  the  time  for  neglectin'  so  much 
as  a  straw,"  Ossie  answered,  reflecting  his  gal- 
vanized smile. 

James  fumbled  again  in  his  pocket,  and  finally 
drew  out,  with  the  forceps  of  two  long,  thin  fingers, 
the  letter  in  question. 

"  It  is  from  a  connection  of  mine,"  he  explained, 
"  down  in  Georgia.  The  lady  is  dying,  poor  soul, 
— I  have  never  seen  her  in  person, — and  she  wants 
me  to  take  her  son  here  and  to  give  him  a  start  in 
my  business."  The  last  statement  came  with  a 
short  bitter  laugh.  "  She  hasn't  been  told,  I  infer, 
of  my  shining  success  in  the  tower  works." 

"  Does  she  say  that  her  son  will  have  any  capital 
to  bring  you?  "  Ossie  asked  very  quickly. 

"  Some  thousands,  she  says.  But  it  wouldn't 
be  right  for  me  to  let  the  young  fellow  sink  it." 

"  Sink  it— fiddlesticks !  "  bridled  Ossie.  "  With 
young  blood  and  more  money — now's  the  time  to 
build  up.  What  else  does  she  say?  " 


THE  LOOPHOLE  91 

"  Uhm — um,"  began  James,  setting  his  eyeglasses 
in  place.  "  *  You'll  find  Karl  unusually  active  and 
intelligent.  I  am  sure  he  is  a  man  to  succeed.  He 
cares  nothing  for  farming,  and  I  do  not  blame  him. 
I  have  told  him  so  much  of  Dunrobin,  and  his 
people  there,  that  the  boy  is  anxious  to  begin  his 
career  in  the  land  where  his  forefathers  lived  and 
commanded  respect.  My  one  wish  is  to  get  away 

from  this  state,  where '  Er, — uhm, — well " 

floundered  the  reader,  somewhat  embarrassed. 
"  The  rest  is  entirely  private,  merely  personal  and 
family  details.  They  would  not  interest  you,  I 
am  sure." 

His  companion  was  equally  sure  that  they  would 
interest  her,  and  the  effort  to  keep  back  her  curi- 
osity brought  her  sleeping  neuralgia  to  life. 

"  I  hope  it  don't  mean  that  the  young  man's  a 
rascal,"  she  permitted  herself  to  remark. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  parried  James.  "  From  the 
mother's  report  Karl  appears  to  be  quite  a  model." 

"  Or  that  he  ain't  got  any  bad  blood  backing  up 
in  his  veins,"  the  suffering  Ossie  pursued. 

"  His  grandmother  was  my  grandfather's  sister," 
stated  Gaither,  thus  ending  conjecture. 

"  Well,  this  may  be  the  loophole  of  escape  after 
all,"  he  declared  with  more  spirit.  "  I  think  I'll 
just  run  up  to  Mary's,  as  I'd  like  to  have  her 
opinion." 

"  Mary  who?  There  happen  to  be  several  Marys 
down  here  in  Dunrobin,"  his  companion  remarked 


92  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

in  a  dull,  suppressed  voice  which  should  have 
warned  him. 

"  Oh,  I  do  beg  your  pardon,  and  hers,"  apologized 
James.  "  I  should  have  said  Mrs.  Hallonquist. 
But  I've  known  her  for  so  many  years,  it  comes 
natural  to  call  her  just l  Mary.'  " 

Ossie's  face  was  a  flint.  At  that  instant,  along 
the  left  side  toward  the  fire,  the  neuralgia  dragged 
a  sharp  claw. 

"  Do  you  think  me  an  out-and-out  fool,  Brother 
James?  "  she  demanded.  "  That  you  spend  words 
like  that  on  my  ear?  You  know  well  as  me  that 
that  simpering  woman  ain't  got  no  more  sense  than 
a  kitten ! " 

"  She  may  not  be  possessed  of  the  practical  sense 
of  one  lady  I  know,"  remarked  James,  with  a  bow 
meant  to  flatter,  but  with  yearning  eyes  set  on  the 
door. 

"  Then  why  do  you  show  her  the  letter  and  keep 
it  from  me?  "  Ossie  scored. 

"  Well,"  stammered  Gaither.  Then,  as  a  heaven- 
sent straw  whirled  in  reach  at  the  instant,  he 
added,  "  she's  a  shareholder,  and  being  such " 

"  Being  such,"  Ossie  echoed,  "  has  about  as 
much  notion  of  how  you  conducts  the  business 
as  I  have  of  scouring  the  floor  of  the  moon." 

But  her  brother-in-law  had  made  his  escape. 

The  change  from  Gaither's  turbulent  home  to 
the  quiet  of  Mary's  small  dining-room,  with  Mary 
herself  before  the  bright  fire,  and  Sophie's  bronze 


THE  LOOPHOLE  93 

curls  touching  the  red  tablecloth  as  she  bent  over 
her  lessons  for  the  morrow,  seemed  at  first  a  verita- 
ble haven  of  peace. 

In  deference  to  Sophie's  abstraction,  the  two 
adult  friends  conversed  in  half -whispers.  If  their 
voices  were  raised,  the  girl  frowned  and  shook  all 
of  her  curls  as  a  warning. 

James  endured  it  as  long  as  he  could,  then,  being 
full  of  his  topic,  lifted  eyebrows  of  protest,  and 
glancing  from  mother  to  daughter,  clearly  let 
it  be  known  that  he  had  something  private  to 
say. 

Mrs.  Hallonquist  laid  her  embroidery  down  to 
her  knees.  "  Sophie  darling,"  she  said,  "  aren't 
those  lessons  of  yours  nearly  finished?  " 

"  No — not  half,"  was  the  instant  rejoinder. 
"  My  jommetry's  awful  tonight." 

"  Perhaps  Uncle  James  will  help  you  work  it 
out,"  Mary  ventured. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  answered  Mr.  Gaither. 
"  It's  been  many  a  year  since  I've  used  mathe- 
matics for  anything  higher  than  pay-rolls.  I  would 
shrink  from  exposing  my  ignorance  before  such 
charming  company." 

Sophie's  slim  figure,  hopefully  lifted,  slouched 
once  more  to  the  table. 

A  queer,  constrained  silence  now  fell  on  the 
motionless  group. 

Mary  took  up  her  needlework,  in  hands  that 
were  not  very  steady,  while  James,  rearranging  his 


94  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

legs,  cleared  his  throat  in  the  short,  nervous  way 
which  of  late  was  becoming  a  habit. 

"  Sophie,"  Mary  began,  in  a  voice  which  be- 
trayed something  like  fear,  "you  will  hurt  your 
eyes  over  those  figures.  I  am  sure  it  is  time  to 
retire." 

The  girl  gave  no  token  of  hearing,  beyond  a 
sharp  kick  at  the  table-leg. 

Mary's  helpless  look  returned  to  her  guest. 

"  See  here,  Sophie,"  said  James  in  a  fatherly 
manner,  "  the  fact  is,  I've  come  here  on  business. 
There's  a  matter  I've  got  to  talk  over  with  your 
mother,  and, — little  pitchers, — you  know " 

Sophie's  eyes  flashed.  "  There's  a  fire  in  the 
kitchen,"  she  said  rudely,  "  I  always  study  my  les- 
sons in  the  dining-room." 

"Good  Lord,  Mary,  you  hear  what  she  says?" 
Gaither  cried  out,  taken  quite  off  his  guard. 
"  We're  to  go  to  the  kitchen !  " 

"  Oh,  James,  you  know  she  is  joking,"  Mary 
faltered,  beginning  to  tremble.  "  That's  just 
Sophie's  way — she  didn't  mean  it  to  sound  so  un- 
civil." 

"  Yes,  I  did ! "  defied  the  girl,  springing  up, 
"  and  I'll  go  to  the  roachy  old  kitchen.  I  suppose 
I  can  see  when  people  want  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"  Oh,  James — James,"  Mary  sobbed,  as  the  angry 
child  flew  from  the  room,  banging  each  door  in 
her  fury.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  do  when  that 
terrible  temper  is  roused." 


THE  LOOPHOLE  95 

"We  have  been  through  a  scene  of  this  kind 
at  my  house/'  James  said  sympathetically.  "  Per- 
haps it's  ferment  in  the  new  generation.  Girls  are 
problems  of  course — but  our  lives  would  be  duller 
without  them." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand,  James,"  wailed  the 
suffering  woman.  "This  outburst  you  have  wit- 
nessed— it's  nothing — it's  only  a  hint  of  what  I 
so  often  go  through.  Sophie's  rude  to  the  servants, 
— she  seems  to  love  no  one, — not  even  me,  who 
would  shed  my  last  drop  of  blood  if  she  needed  it. 
There  are  times  when  I  believe  it  will  kill  me." 
The  stricken  soul  shuddered  in  speaking. 

"  There — don't  cry  any  more,  little  mother," 
pleaded  the  visitor,  "  it'll  all  come  out  right  in  the 
wash.  I^et  us  try  to  forget  our  young  Goneril 
and  Regan.  Here's  a  letter  I  want  you  to  read." 

Mary  dried  her  long  lashes,  and  attempted  to 
bite  her  quivering  lips  back  to  firmness. 

"  Have  you  any  recollection  of  hearing  an  <\ld 
family  scandal  about  my  Aunt  Emily  Gaitherr  " 
James  inquired,  as  he  drew  out  the  missive. 

"  Only  vaguely.  She  made  some  kind  of  un- 
fortunate marriage,  did  she  not?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  she  did !  She  married  a 
German,  Mulbach  by  name,  who,  during  Sherman's 
march  to  the  sea,  sold  his  cotton  to  Yankees." 

"  The  details  were  never  told  me,"  Mary  said, 
looking  deeply  concerned,  "  though  I  knew  that  in 
some  way  he  had  betrayed  the  Confederacy." 


96  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  He  was  a  traitor  and  a  coward  through  and 
through  to  his  black  German  heart.  It  was  not 
only  in  selling  his  cotton  when  all  true  sons  of  the 
South  were  making  bonfires  of  their  crops,  rather 
than  allow  them  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  our 
enemies,  that  he  proved  false.  Not  content  with 
huge  personal  profits,  he  managed,  through  trick- 
ery, to  buy  up  a  lot  from  his  neighbours'  stock,  on 
the  plea  that  a  ship  waited  at  Savannah,  and  would 
run  the  blockade  to  England.  There  was  one 
planter,  Wyndham,  who  began  to  scent  mischief, 
whereupon  Mulbach  took  out  his  scoundrel's  re- 
venge by  dispatching  a  negro  into  Sherman's  ranks, 
with  information  as  to  Wyndham's  concealed  stores 
of  cotton." 

"What  a  terrible,  terrible  creature!"  faltered 
Mary.  "  But  surely  here  in  the  South  he  was  never 
allowed  to  enjoy  his  ill-gotten  gains?  " 

"He  was  not!"  James  said  grimly.  "But  his 
method  of  punishment  completed  his  disgrace.  He 
was  tarred  and  feathered,  and  literally  ridden  on 
a  fence-rail  to  the  nearest  station,  where  he  was 
kicked  aboard  the  first  north-bound  train." 

"  And  his  wife,  your  poor  Aunt  Emily?  " 

"  Never  heard  from  the  blackguard  again ;  and  I 
fancy  never  cared  to.  But  it  is  all  in  the  letter 
you  hold,"  he  recalled  by  a  glance.  "  It's  from  my 
Aunt  Emily's  daughter,  who  was  Gretchen  Mul- 
bach, and  who  married  a  small  landowner  called 


THE  LOOPHOLE  97 

Trenham — a  nice  chap,  I  believe.  But  you  will 
find  it  all  written  out  there." 

When  Mary  had  finished,  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  never  brought  there  by  Sophie. 

"  Oh,  poor  mother !  "  she  sighed.  "  What  a  heart- 
rending letter!  I  don't  wonder  she  wants  her  one 
son  to  come  back  to  his  honourable  kinsmen.  What 
a  stain!  Has  this  young  Trenham  ever  been  told 
the  whole  truth?  " 

"  Cousin  Gretchen  don't  say  so,"  mused  James, 
looking  down  at  the  letter  which  Mary  that  moment 
returned.  "  But  those  few  thousands  she  says  he 
can  invest  may  mean  the  difference  to  me  of  stark 
ruin,  or  building  a  new,  paying  business.  Success 
would  include  your  shares  too,  and  I  know  you 
are  straitened  as  I  am.  Even  more  than  his  money, 
I  need  ,new  blood  in  the  tower  works,  a  more 
modern  outlook." 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  now,  is  it  right  to  our 
friends,  or  to  our  daughters,"  James  laughed 
lightly,  "  to  welcome  a  man  with  such  a  blot  on 

his  name?  '  The  sins  of  the  fathers ' "  he 

quoted. 

Mary  lifted  compassionate  eyes.  "  And  shows 
mercy  to  thousands  who  love  Me  and  keep  My 
commandments." 

"  Then  you  think  we  should  risk  it? "  cried 
Gaither. 


98  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Mary  smiled  at  the  hope  in  his  tone. 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,  I  believe  it  was  meant  that  we 
should  do  so.  And  how  could  a  man  such  as  you 
turn  away  from  the  wish  of  that  poor  dying 
woman?  Let  her  know  right  away  that  he'll  be 
welcome." 

James  sprang  up.  He  looked  twenty  years 
younger.  "  Then  I'll  do  it !  Oh,  Mary,  how  could 
I  get  on  without  you!  I'll  walk  from  here  direct 
to  the  station,  and  send  a  long  telegram  to  Mrs. 
Trenham  tonight." 

"  Yes,  do.  And  God  grant  that  our  decision  is  a 
wise  one ;  not  only  for  young  Mr.  Trenham,  but  for 
all  the  rest  of  us.  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you !  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

KARL  TRENHAM 

CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD  sat  alone  on  the 
Gaithers'  front  porch.  The  house,  like  the 
Hallonquist  cottage,  faced  due  south ;  a  clear 
golden  sun  of  October,  still  high  in  the  afternoon 
heaven,  poured  down  full  upon  him.  In  his  hand 
he  held  a  newly  arrived  periodical,  the  title  of 
which,  thus  displayed,  could  be  seen  as  A  Journal 
for  Naturalists. 

The  tall  mountaineer,  through  long  years  in  the 
lowlands,  had  suffered,  if  not  a  sea-change,  at  least 
a  distinct  town-change  in  appearance.  His  large 
frame  had  not  grown  more  stout,  but  more  compact 
and  massive.  His  head  still  canted  forward,  but 
his  shoulders  had  straightened,  and  his  arms  now 
belonged  to  his  body. 

In  the  matter  of  worldly  attire,  he  was  not  ut- 
terly lacking  in  interest,  although  Ossie  dared  not 
yet  "  give  him  lief  "  to  purchase  his  own  socks  and 
neckties. 

The  man's  thoughts,  however,  were  no£,  of  his 
clothes  nor  of  himself  at  that  moment,  for  a  wee 
yellow  spider,  at  the  end  of  a  skein  quite  invisible 

99 


100  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

to  human  perception,  began  slowly  to  lower  itself 
just  in  front  of  Chris's  nose. 

He  drew  back,  and  straightened  to  watch  it, 
then  cautiously  held  out  his  palm.  Would  the 
creature  continue  its  falling,  thus  promising 
largesse  of  gold  to  the  person  whose  hand  it  might 
touch? 

The  yellow  dot  wavered,  then  seemed  to  be  jerked 
from  above. 

"  Shucks ! "  exclaimed  Chris.  "  You  just  keep 
on  like  you  started,  you  rascal.  Set  right  there  on 
my  palm,  as  pleased  as  a  dog  on  a  mat.  That 
means  money  for  me!  And  the  joke  of  it  is,"  the 
man  chuckled,  "  I  can  make  a  whole  lot  by  just 
writing  a  piece  about  you,  little  Miss  Spider ! " 
He  tossed  the  insect  away,  and  off  she  sailed 
through  the  air  like  a  comet,  until  her  one  thread 
caught  the  tip  of  a  sycamore  branch. 

The  fact  that  his  writings  on  spiders,  or  wasps, 
or  the  doings  of  ants  as  he  saw  them,  were  de- 
manded, and  brought  him  real  money  from  editors 
"  North,"  was  Christopher's  great  and  shining 
secret.  It  was  something  he  had  not  as  yet  shared 
even  with  Miss  Mary,  though  of  course  he  eventu- 
ally would. 

Indeed,  but  for  her  he  knew  he  could  never  have 
written. 

"  If  I  hadn't  a-fallen  in  love,  head  over  heels, 
the  first  time  I  saw  her,  and  had  to  ease  up  my 


KARL  TRENHAM  101 

mind  through  my  old  Memory  Book,  I  never  could 
have  written  these  here  articles.  Them  fool  fel- 
lows up  North,  they  even  like  me  to  spell  my  words 
mountain  fashion.  They're  plumb  queer." 

Chris  was  reaching  out  to  take  up  his  Naturalist's 
Journal,  when  the  front  door  flew  open  and 
Mildred  ran  out,  laughing  a  little  affectedly,  both 
hands  held  up  to  her  temples.  A  young  man,  Karl 
Trenham,  who  had  been  lunching  with  the  family, 
now  appeared  in  pursuit.  He  caught  the  girl  by 
one  slender  arm,  while  his  other  hand  brandished 
a  penknife. 

"  No,  no,  Karl,  you  simply  sha'n't  cut  one  of  those 
curls  on  my  forehead.  Everybody  would  notice. 
But  if  you  won't  take  '  no '  for  an  answer,  there 
are  some  at  the  back  of  my  neck — Oh !  oh !  there's 
Uncle  Chris!  "  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  dropping, 
while  the  sweet  face  became  red  as  a  rose. 

"  And  what  of  it?  "  laughed  Karl.  "  I'm  sure 
in  his  time  that  your  Uncle  has  cut  off  a  good  many 
curls.  How  about  it  there,  Uncle  Chris?  "  Tren- 
ham merrily  challenged. 

Chris  had  caught  up  his  new  magazine,  and 
was  now  intent  upon  his  efforts  to  hide  it. 

Karl  and  Mildred  exchanged  smiling  glances 
which  said,  as  plainly  as  words,  "  Isn't  the  old 
boy  too  funny?  " 

"  If  you're  going  to  walk  down  for  your  shop- 
ping with  me,  Cousin  Mildred,"  young  Trenham 


102  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

now  said  to  the  girl,  "  you  must  run  up  and  fling 
on  your  hat  P.D.Q. — I'm  late  now  at  the  office, 
and  you  know  I  keep  punctual  hours." 

"  Pleare  don't  leave  me.  I  won't  take  a  minute," 
she  cried,  and  sped  into  the  hall  and  up  the  long 
stairway,  her  small  feet  drumming  a  tattoo  of  haste. 

"  The  usual  girl's  minute,  I  fear,"  remarked 
Karl,  as  he  strolled  toward  Chris's  end  of  the 
porch.  "  I've  yet  to  meet  any  woman — and  I've 
met  quite  a  few — with  an  idea  of  the  value  of 
time." 

A  low  sound  came  from  Chris.  It  was  more  like 
a  grunt  than  anything  human. 

If  Karl  heard,  he  refused  to  be  daunted,  for, 
still  waggish  and  smiling,  he  continued  on  his 
way,  until  reaching  the  bench  at  Chris's  elbow,  he 
drew  out  his  cigarette  case,  struck  a  match,  and 
then  flung  himself  down  in  a  posture  unconsciously 
graceful. 

He  now  took  off  his  hat,  disclosing  thick  hair 
the  colour  of  sunlight. 

"  Yes,  these  women  are  queer  cattle,"  Karl  went 
on,  as  though  his  companion  displayed  ardent  wel- 
come. "  No  value  of  time, — no  glimmer  of  logic, 
— they  are  riddles,  all  right.  Haven't  you  found 
it  the  case,  Uncle  Chris?  " 

Chris  drew  out  his  pipe.  He  detested  the 
cigarette  fumes,  and  now  lit  his  malodorous  brier- 
root  as  corrective. 

"  I  ain't  much  on  puzzles,  young  man,"  he  said 


KARL  TRENHAM  103 

slowly.  "  I  reckon  I'm  apt  to  take  things  as  I 
find  them.  It's  a  beautiful  day  that  we're  having 
— look  at  those  sailing  white  clouds !  " 

Karl  refused  to  look  up. 

"  I  was  talking  of  women,"  he  persisted.  "  They 
interest  me  more  than  clouds.  Down  home  there 
in  Georgia — I'd  caught  on  to  the  sex  pretty  well, 
but  I'm  not  so  sure  of  myself  in  Dunrobin.  I  find 
the  girls  rather  standoffish — all,  that  is,"  he  cor- 
rected, while  a  smile  played  in  his  slightly  closed 
eyes,  "  but  my  charming  cousin  Mildred." 

Receiving  no  encouragement,  he  appealed: 
"  Now,  come,  Uncle  Chris,  be  a  clever  old  boy,  and 
hand  a  few  tips  to  a  fellow.  You've  red  blood  in 
your  veins,  and  this  jolly  old  world  is  one  big 
circus." 

"  No,  I  haven't  red  blood,"  said  Chris  rather 
quickly.  "  Not  in  that  way  you  mean.  And  I'll 
tell  you  right  now,  Mr.  Trenham,  you're  barking 
up  the  wrong  tree.  I  don't  talk  about  ladies  with 
no  one — not  even  with  friends." 

The  meaning  implied  in  his  last  words  could 
not  be  avoided. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Mr.  Laird,  that's  a  little  bit 
rough,"  Trenham  cried,  a  bright  spot  springing 
out  on  each  cheek.  "  I  meant  no  offence.  It's  only 
my  free  off-handed  manner  of  speaking." 

"  There  may  be  some  as  likes  it,"  said  Chris, 
"  but  I'm  not  of  their  number.  It's  safer  to  have 
such  things  known  at  the  start." 


104  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  That's  right,  rub  it  in,"  muttered  Karl,  with  a 
half  chagrined,  partly  humorous  twitch  of  his  full 
crimson  lips.  "  I  won't  trespass  again.  Oh,  thank 
Heaven,"  he  cried,  springing  up  and  cramming  on 
his  hat,  "  there's  Mildred !  " 

It  was  Mildred.  The  pretty  thing  paused  on  the 
doorsill,  to  throw  arch  glances  around  at  her 
cousin.  Chris  saw  it  all  from  the  tail  of  one  eye. 

Just  behind  his  young  niece  followed  "  Sis." 
Miss  Ossie  stood,  her  lean,  toil-worn  hands  folded 
neatly  together,  just  above  where  her  stomach 
would  be,  if  she  had  one;  her  eyes  shining  with 
pride,  turned  from  one  youthful  face  to  the  other. 

Karl  sent  a  quick  smile  to  his  hostess,  which 
seemed  to  declare  "yes,  she  is  lovely,"  and  then 
stepping  up  to  the  girl,  caught  her  forearm,  town- 
fashion,  and  led  her  out  into  the  street. 

"  Don't  they  make  just  a  too  elegant  couple?  " 
Sis  asked  with  a  rapturous  sigh. 

Chris  turned  half  way  around  in  his  chair,  and 
set  sombre  eyes  on  the  two. 

"  I  always  did  love  a  blond  man,"  murmured 
Miss  Laird,  her  smile  now  becoming  quite  fatuous, 
"  And  'specially  when  he  is  tall,  and  holds  his 
head  high,  and  his  shoulders  so  stiff  and  so  manly." 

"  If  he  tries  to  r'ar  back  any  manlier,"  said 
Chris,  "he  will  topple  plumb  over,  and  bust  that 
flat  back  to  his  head." 

Miss  Ossie's  smile  died — a  quick  death — in  con- 
vulsions. She  wheeled  around  to  her  brother. 


KARL  TRENHAM  105 

"  It  ain't  like  you,  Chris  Laird,"  she  accused, 
"  to  take  up  a  prejudice  such  as  you  have  taken, 
from  the  first,  against  young  Mr.  Trenham.  Oh, 
you  can't  deceive  me! "  she  denounced,  although 
Chris  had  attempted  no  denial.  "  You  took  it  the 
minute  you  seen — er — saw  him,  and  the  poor  boy 
always  so  friendly  and  cordial  to  you." 

"  He  is  that,"  answered  Chris  with  a  groan,  "  and 
I  wish  to  my  God  that  he  wasn't." 

"I'll  declare,  Christopher  Laird,"  Miss  Ossie 
began  after  a  short  ruthless  march  to  his  chair, 
her  eyes  pinning  him1  down  like  two  spikelets. 
"  Sometimes  I  have  reason  to  think  that  you  ain't 
kept  the  sense  you  was  born  with.  It  warn't  much 
at  the  first, — but  it  seems  to  have  petered  to 
nothing!  I'd  be  ashamed,  plumb  clear  through, 
to  confess  to  this  ugly  mean  spirit.  Air  you 
jealous  of  Karl  that  you  act  so  outrageous  about 
him?" 

"  No,  Sis,  I  ain't  jealous,"  rose  Chris's  voice,  very 
meek  and  subdued,  "  but  I  don't  like  the  he-critter's 
walk — his  hips  wiggle — and  he's  going  to  be  fat 
in  the  weskit  some  day — sure's  an  old  hog  gets 
rusty." 

"  Tsch !  "  cried  Miss  Ossie  in  scorn.  "  I've  been 
watching  this  man, — I've  made  James  tell  me  all 
he  is  done  in  the  shot  tower  works, — the  year  and 
few  months  he  is  been  here.  He  is  a  genius  in 
business — as  sure  as  that  you  and  James  Gaither 
is  muddlers.  He  must  be  kept  right  here  in  our 


106  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

family  and  I'm  doing  my  best  every  day  for  to 
make  up  a  match  between  him  and  our  Mildred !  " 

Chris's  face  was  stern.  "  You  are  taking  a  lot 
on  yourself,  Sis,  to  force  it,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It 
ain't  no  business  of  yours,  and  the  handling  of  other 
folk's  lives  shouldn't  oughter  be  done  by  mere 
humans.  You'll  rue  it,  I  fear.  Yes,  you'll  rue 
it." 

"I'll  rue  what?"  Ossie  flared.  "Will  I  rue 
wedding  Leezer's  own  child  to  the  likeliest  man  in 
Dunrobin?  To  settle  her  rich — in  a  house  of  her 
own — and  maybe  her  carriage  and  pair!  Why, 
Mildred's  father,  he  wants  it !  " 

"  Did  he  say  so  himself?  "  threw  in  Chris,  with 
such  swiftness  that  Ossie  was  taken  off  guard. 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  she  floundered.  "  Not  in 
so  many  words.  But  of  course  he  must  want  it, 
if  he's  got  any  sense  whatsomever." 

"  But  he  hasn't, — he's  a  muddler  like  me,"  Chris 
reminded. 

Ossie  was  compelled  to  draw  back,  and  begin 
on  a  new  flanking  movement. 

"  Everybody  that  knows  Karl  is  crazy  about 
him,"  she  asserted.  "  There's  a  kind  word  for  each 
and  all,  and  he's  so  witty!  The  men  can't  get  over 
his  smartness  in  business.  That  half  dead  old  shot 
tower  is  booming,  actually  booming.  Orders  come 
in  so  fast  that  they've  doubled  the  number  of 
workmen " 

"  And  kicked  out  old  Anthony  Blum,  what's  been 


KARL  TRENHAM  107 

book-keeping  there  on  half  wages,  ever  since  the 
surrender,"  remarked  Chris. 

"And  what  if  he  has  been  discharged,  his  eye- 
sight was  failing!  Karl  said  so,"  defended  Miss 
Ossie.  "  You  must  prune  out  the  old  rotten  wood 
to  let  the  young  branches  grow  vigorous." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  him  say  both  of  them  things," 
murmured  Chris  rather  sadly.  "  But  it  don't  help 
old  Anthony  none.  He've  a  bed-ridden  wife,  an' 
five  childun " 

With  a  low  cry  of  impatience,  Miss  Ossie  was 
turning  away,  when  Chris  caught  at  her  hand.  The 
brother  and  sister  both  flushed,  for  such  personal 
contact  was  rare. 

"  Now,  Sis,  look  a-here,"  the  man  said  gently, 
"  we  two  is  got  no  call  to  wrangle,  and  spend  harsh 
words,— one  on  the  other.  You  know  I  love 
Mildred, — and  I  want  her  to  marry  the  likeliest 
man  she  can  get." 

Silence  having  fallen,  he  went  on  very  softly, 
"  Milly  must  be  a  wife  and  mother.  If  she  don't, 
she  is  going  to  be  like  a  lonesome,  one  knitting 
needle,  no  good  at  all  without  its  mate.  And  it 
ain't  going  to  matter  so  much,  who  she  marries, — 
so  long  as  he's  all  real  man.  Do  you  know,  Sis," 
he  ventured,  being  greatly  encouraged  by  Ossie's 
more  kindly  expression,  "  I  sometimes  wish  that 
our  niece  could  have  known  'Lonzo  Thigpen." 

"  'Lonzo  Thigpen ! "  gasped  Ossie,  and  turned 
bluish  green  in  her  horror.  "  That  loose-jinted  hill- 


108  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

billy, — that  skinner  of  beasts  and  their  innards, 
— that  oaf!  Air  ye  plumb  bereft,  Christopher 
Laird!  Let  me  get  in  the  house,  before  I  take  up 
a  billet  of  wood,  and  ruin  ye ! " 

Left  alone,  Chris  sat  a  long  while  musing,  then 
slowly  pulled  himself  upright.  "  I  must  be  mosey- 
ing too,"  he  muttered.  "  At  this  rate  of  loafing  I'll 
be  fired  from  my  job,  like  old  Anthony  Blum." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ICY  HEART 

THE  first  black  frost  of  the  season  had  been 
scheduled  for  the  previous  night  in  Dunrobin. 
But  the  frost  did  not  come.  In  its  stead,  a 
chill  piercing  damp  held  the  earth,  and  next  morn- 
ing grey  clouds,  like  huge  sponges,  exuded,  in 
place  of  absorbing,  the  moisture. 

Out  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Hallonquist  cottage 
Aunt  Tempey  sat  close  to  her  stove.  Now  and  then 
she  looked  around  it  to  Grief,  closely  glued  to  the 
opposite  surface. 

"  Miss  Mary  an'  dat  spilted  chile  Sophie  mus' 
be  sleepin'  dar  haids  off  dis  mawnin',"  the  former 
observed  in  a  tone  of  extreme  disapprobation. 
"  My  biscuits  is  done  riz  an'  fell  two  times  a' ready. 
Dey'll  be  tougher  dan  Judas  Iscaragut  if  dey  rises 
an'  falls  any  mo'." 

The  complainer  was  draped  in  a  mantua  of 
ancient  design,  rusty  black,  with  bedraggled  bead 
fringes.  From  her  round  huddled  shoulders  it  fell 
in  the  curves  artists  give  to  the  folds  of  marble 
cloth  on  the  urn  of  a  tombstone. 

"  'Clar  to  Gawd,  Honey  Grief,"  she  continued, 

109 


110  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

having  received  a  quick  grunt  of  sympathy,  "  but 
dis  chill  is  bit  down  to  de  heart  of  my  marrer.  All 
de  bones  I's  got  is  drumsticks  wid  ice  in  de 
middle." 

"  Dey  ain't  no  mo'  friz  up  dan  mine,"  Old  Grief 
chattered.  "  I  was  settin'  here  studyin',  jes1  now, 
dat  de  hebbenly  land  whar  we's  goin'  mus'  be  one 
long  endurin'  July,  wid  de  streets  of  Jerusalem 
pilted  high  to  de  roofs  wid  big  ripe  watermil- 
Hons " 

"  An'  shoes  on  our  foots — wid  no  corns,  an'  us 
clothed  wid  de  bres-plate  of  glory — Dar's  de  bell 
rung  at  las'  " — Tempey  broke  off  her  chanting  to 
announce.  "  Well,  it's  time  an'  to  spare !  Here, 
you  loaf  in'  black  nigger,  jes'  you  hop  fum  dat  stool, 
an'  ketch  holt  er  dat  pan  o'  hot  biscuits." 

Sophie  sulked  during  the  meal.  She  knew  from 
the  chill  that  lurked  through  the  house  in  spite  of 
three  fires,  that  she  needed  to  wear  her  old  last 
winter's  coat,  and  felt  a  dull  anger  toward  her 
mother  who  had  postponed  the  purchase  of  the 
new  and  greatly  desired  garment. 

"  If  you  had  done  what  you  said,"  the  daughter 
flared  out,  "  and  had  bought  one  of  those  heavy 
ones  at  Weldon's  last  week,  you  wouldn't  be  asking 
me  now,  to  go  off  looking  like  one  of  the  girls 
from  the  Church  Home,  or  the  County  Poor- 
house  !  " 

"  You  shall  have  the  coat  you  want,  Sophie  dear 
— I'll  give  you  my  word.  But  you  must  put  on  the 


THE  ICY  HEART  111 

old  one  before  you  go  out  in  this  penetrating 
cold." 

"  All  right  then.  This  once  only — remember ! 
And  what's  this  for?  "  she  caustically  inquired,  as 
Mary,  after  holding  the  coat  for  her  daughter  to 
get  in  it,  rather  timidly  extended  a  small  book 
with  a  tan  coloured  paper  cover,  denoting  that  it 
came  from  the  Dunrobin  library. 

"  It's  a  novel  I've  just  finished,"  said  Mary,  at- 
tempting a  light,  casual  tone.  "  Your  school  is  so 
close  to  Miss  Sally's, — I  know  you  won't  mind 
stepping  around  and  returning  it  for  me." 

"  And  bringing  another  one  home,  I  suppose," 
demanded  Sophie,  with  a  twitch  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  her  mother,  laying  it  down 
to  the  table.  "  I  perfer  to  return  it  myself." 

Sophie  snatched  up  the  volume.  "  You  know  I 
will  take  it,"  she  cried,  "  though  I've  got  a  whole 
cartload  of  schoolbooks  to  carry  already.  What  I 
can't  understand,"  she  declared,  marching  past  like 
an  offended  empress,  "is  how  you  can  spend  so 
much  time  reading  those  silly  novels." 

There  was  nothing  for  Mary  to  say. 

"  I  never  have  wasted  my  time  on  such,  trash, 
and  I  never  intend  to  begin,"  was  the  girl's  parting 
thrust. 

Sophie's  querulous  mood  seemed  to  follow  her 
into  the  schoolroom,  and  when  at  last,  dispersal 
bell  rang,  Sophie  curtly  refused  Letty's  offer  to 
walk  half-way  home,  gathered  up  her  now  hated 


112  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

textbooks,  and  flinging  the  yet  more  abhorred  novel 
on  top,  started  around  to  the  library. 

Miss  Sally  beamed  over  her  desk.  "  I'm  so  glad 
you  came  by  this  morning,  Sophie  dear,"  she  cried 
to  that  sombre  young  person.  "  I  was  hoping  either 
you  or  your  dear  Mother  would  chance  to  drop  in. 
How  is  Mary  today?  " 

"  She's  all  right,"  answered  Sophie.  "  Here's 
her  book,  and  she  says  please  to  send  her " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I've  been  keeping  a  special  one 
hid  in  my  desk,"  the  little  librarian  interrupted 
eagerly.  "  It  came  only  yesterday,  straight  from 
the  publisher  here.  It's  Miss  Jernigan's  latest  and 
best— '  The  Icy  Heart'  Oh,  it's  lovely!  Doesn't 
the  very  title  enchant  you?  " 

Sophie,  frowning  and  shifting  her  books,  got 
out  something  about  being  in  a  hurry. 

"  You  impatient  young  things  always  are ! " 
laughed  Miss  Sally  archly.  "  Well,  take  it  right 
along,  I  won't  even  stop  to  slip  on  the  cover;  give 
your  dear  Mother  my  love,  and  tell  her  I  envy  her 
the  real  treat  she  has  in  store.  I  sat  up  most  of 
last  night  to  find  out  what  was  going  to  happen! 
It's  the  sort  of  romance  you  just  can't  put  down, 
when  once  you  have  read  the  first  chapter.  How 
Miss  Jernigan  does  it !  "  she  sighed  in  an  ecstasy. 

Sophie  caught  at  the  book  rather  rudely,  and 
fled  to  the  street. 

"  Of  all  boring  idiots ! "  the  angry  girl  cried  to 
herself.  "  To  giggle  and  roll  up  her  eyes,  and 


THE  ICY  HEART  113 

actually  blush  over  somebody  else's  love-story.  I 
suppose  it's  because  she's  a  withered  old  maid,  and 
never  had  one  of  her  own." 

She  was  passing  the  Bannister  home,  where  an 
ancient  box-hedge  stuffed  with  cobwebs  rose  a  little 
beyond  and  within  a  stone  coping,  when  a  redbird 
flew  down  from  a  tree,  and  perched  on  a  shrub 
before  her.  In  contrast  with  the  grey  of  the  sky, 
and  the  malachite  green  of  the  hedgerow,  he  seemed 
a  spirit  set  free, — like  the  core  of  a  love  that  is 
deathless. 

"Oh,  you  beauty,  you  darling !". said  the  girl 
under  her  breath. 

The  bird  twitched  his  crest,  cocked  one  eye 
toward  the  intruder,  while  the  imbricate  down  on 
his  throat  began  slowly  to  quiver. 

"  He,  is  going  to  sing ! "  Sophie  exclaimed,  when 
a  bang  and  a  clatter  of  books  to  the  earth  changed 
the  song  to  a  red  flash  of  terror. 

Sophie  ground  out  a  few  inarticulate  words 
through  set  teeth,  and  stooped  for  the  volumes. 
The  last  one  she  picked  up  was  the  novel,  which 
lay  open,  face  downward.  On  its  back  shone  the 
title  in  gold,  "  The  Icy  Heart,"  by  Annabel  Jerni- 
gan,  the  words  being  set  in  a  gilt  outline  displaying 
that  human  organ. 

The  schoolbooks  were  hastily  flung  to  the  coping, 
while  with  a  scowl  of  distaste  the  "  Heart "  was 
snatched  up  and  its  soiled  pages  hastily  dusted  off. 

"  What  in  the  world  will  Miss  Sally  say,"  Sophie 


114  CHKISTOPHER  LAIRD 

was  thinking,  when  a  line  caught  her  eyes,  and 
instantly  held  them: 

" '  You  have  admitted  in  more  ways  than  one,  how 
you  loved  me/  whispered  Arthur.  '  I  have  seen  it  a- 
tremble  on  those  prowd  scarlet  lips,  and  love-lights 
have  played  in  your  beautiful  eyes.  And  yet — oh, 
most  cruel,  most  lovely  of  women ' 

'  And  yet/  Beatrice  echoed,  sending  toward  him  a 
glance  of  seduction  and  coquetry. 

'You  have  held  me  away  from  that  red  mouth's 
allure, — you  have  toyed  with  my  heart — but  your 
moment  has  come  for  surrender.  No,  you  cannot 
escape  me  this  time, — I  will  win  you  and  hold  you 
forever ! ' 

Seizing  her  by  both  of  her  fluttering  hands,  in  a 
grasp  so  intense  that  it  pained  her,  Arthur  drew  the 
girl  close  to  his  breast. 

Beatrice  strove  to  resist,  but  was  powerless  in  those 
conquering  arms.  She  was  captured  at  last,  overcome, 
utterly  hypnotized  by  love's  passion. 

Closer — closer — his  masterful  face — now  dead  white, 
new  flaming  with  triumph — made  its  way  to  her  own. 
Their  lips  clung — the  girl's  fragile  form  shivered " 

"  Pooh !  "  Sophie  cried,  and  shut  the  book.  "  It's 
disgusting ! " 

"  What's  disgusting,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as 
to  inquire?  "  said  a  low,  laughing  voice  in  her  ear. 

Sophie  gasped.  For  one  terrified  instant  she 
tkought  the  speaker  was  "  Arthur." 

"  Oh,   oh,    Mr.   Karl — Mr.    Trenham,   how   you 


THE  ICY  HEART  115 

scared  me !  "  she  stammered.  "  How  horrid  of  you 
to  sneak  up  and  not  let  me  hear  you." 

"  I  hadn't  the  first  thought  of  sneaking,"  de- 
fended the  man  rather  hotly.  "  I  was  walking  this 
way.  I  had  business.  It  was  you  with  your  head 
in  that  book,  who  couldn't  ,hear  a  plain  citizen  com- 
ing, and  I  want  to  see  for  myself  what  made  you 
so  blind  and  so  deaf  to  the  world." 

"  I  won't  let  you,"  cried  Sophie,  holding  it  be- 
hind her.  "  It's  a  novel.  I  hate  such  sentimental 
trash ! " 

"  You  appeared  to,"  the  other  said  dryly.  "  Stop, 
no  good  backing  into  the  hedge,  you'll  only  get 
dirty.  When  I  set  myself  out  for  a  thing  I  usually 

get  it.  Like  this "he  exclaimed,  and  with  a 

swiftness  that  took  his  companion  off  guard,  he 
twirled  her  about  by  the  shoulders,  caught  the  book, 
and  holding  it  up  well  above  her  reach,  let  his  merry 
blue  eyes  seek  out  "  Arthur." 

"  Ha !  So  here  is  the  place,"  the  tormentor 
began.  "  I  can  tell  by  the  crumpled-up  page. 
'  Closer — closer — his  masterful  face — now  dead 
white,  now '  " 

With  the  goad  of  frenzy,  Sophie  sprang  for  the 
arm  in  the  air,  swung  upon  it,  and  again  brought 
"  The  Icy  Heart  "  to  earth. 

"  I  won't  hear  it !  /  won't! "  she  panted.  "  It's 
silly, — it's  perfectly  loathsome !  " 

"  Now  dead  white, — and  now  spotted  with 
purple,"  Karl  recited  aloud,  his  eyes  set,  as  if 


116  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

fixed  on  a  book  firmly  poised  in  the  ether  before 
him,  "  and  their  lips  met.  Smack !  Smack !  — 
Hully  Gee !  the  fair  lady  cried  out,  but  that's  bully, 
friend  Arthur.  Come  back,  and  we'll  try  it  again !  " 

"  I  won't  listen !  "  stormed  Sophie,  her  hands  to 
her  ears,  "  and  you  ought  to  be  'shamed,  Mr.  Karl 
— to  talk  such  things  to  me !  " 

"  Does  that  mean  you'd  prefer  demonstration  to 
speech?"  Trenham  inquired  without  lifting  his 
voice.  Oddly  enough,  Sophie  heard  him.  She  venr 
tured  a  shy,  upward  glance,  and  met  eyes  spilling 
laughter. 

"  I  should  say  that  I  didn't ! "  she  snapped 
angrily,  "  You  are  indecent !  I  wish  you'd  go  and 
attend  to  that  business  you  spoke  of.  Don't  you 
dare  say  another  such  word  to  me." 

"  All  right  then.  Let's  be  moseying  on,  as  your 
Uncle  Chris  says.  But  here,  hand  me  those  books. 
They  must  be  heavy." 

"  I'll  carry  my  own  books,"  Sophie  said  un- 
graciously. "  I  do  it  twice  every  day.  But  if  you 
insist  (this  with  a  withering  glance)  on  walking 
home  with  me,  I  would  thank  you  to  take  that — 
thing." 

Karl  stooped  for  the  wiry  gold  heart,  and  began 
a  new  dusting  of  its  injured  pages.  "  Poor  inno- 
cent booklet,"  he  murmured,  while  Sophie  switched 
farther  away.  "  Just  because  you  are  telling  her 
of  things  that  make  life  most  worth  the  living! 
Never  mind,  little  heart,"  he  apostrophized,  with  a 


THE  ICY  HEART  117 

hand  now  caressing  its  covers.  "  Miss  Hallon- 
quist  jeers  at  you  today,  but  wait  till  her  time 
comes  for  loving  and  kissing.  Just  wait,  little 
book,  till  some  masterful  face,  green  and  yellow, 
and  mottled  with  passion,  begins  closing  down  on 
her  own — when  their  lips  meet " 

"  Oh, — oh, — oh !  "  the  girl  raged,  quite  beside 
herself  with  fury.  "  You  must  stop  it !  I'm  in 
earnest.  If  you  don't,  I'll  begin  to  scream  out 
loud,  till  the  people  all  come  running  out  of  their 
houses.  You  may  think  you  are  funny — but  you're 
not.  I  hate  you — so  there! " 

A  break  in  the  clear  vibrant  voice,  that  was 
usually  filled  with  music,  warned  the  jester  that 
chaffing  had  gone  far  enough. 

"  Of  course  I  thought  you  knew  I  was  teasing, 
my  dear  little  Sophie,"  Trenham  quickly  capitu- 
lated. "  But  the  truth  is,  you  looked  so  confounded 
pretty  when  your  big  eyes  began  flashing  fire,  and 
your  cheeks  burned  like  poppies — I  couldn't  resist. 
It's  the  first  time  we  two  have  ever  been  together, 
alone.  You're  a  winner,  you  know.  Please  forgive 
me." 

"  No !  I  can't  and  I  won't,"  was  her  answer. 

"  I've  been  a  brute — a  big  brute,"  the  man 
pleaded  contritely.  "  See  here,  Sophie,  I'll  do  any- 
thing on  this  earth  to  show  I  am  sorry.  I'll  eat  dirt 
— I'll  sit  here  on  the  curbing  and  howl." 

His  companion  turned  one  resentful  shoulder 
upon  him. 


118  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  But  FTC  this  much  to  say  as  an  excuse,"  Tren- 
ham  continued.  "  I  believe  in  that  love  you're 
pretending  to  scorn.  I  believe,  with  my  whole 
soul — in  kissing.  And  you  will  too  some  day.  No, 
don't  toss  those  brown  curls,  for  your  time  is  com- 
ing. And  what  is  more,"  pursued  the  voice  of  the 
charmer,  "  when  you  are  grown,  you  are  going 
to  be  just  the  kind  that  will  set  men  crazy.  All 
the  fellows  are  saying  that  you  are  the  brightest 
and  prettiest  girl  in  Dunrobin.  If  I  were  one  of 
the  boys,  instead  of  the  sober  old  business  man 
that  you  see  me — and,  by  George !  "  he  broke  out, 
with  a  new  and  thrilling  tone  in  the  speaking,  "  I 
don't  believe  I  am  too  old  to  fall  head  over  heels 
in  love  with  you  here  wThere  we're  standing!  " 

Sophie's  stride  almost  grew  to  a  run,  and  the 
blood  in  her  veins  turned  to  fire.  Her  chief  thought 
was  to  prevent  Karl  from  seeing  the  astounding 
effect  his  impetuous  words  had  produced. 

He  took  several  long  steps,  and,  reaching  her 
side,  evinced  his  intention  to  govern  his  paces  by 
her  own. 

"  You  are  sure  you're  not  feeling  a  little  bit 
human  by  now?  " 

Her  head  shook  a  violent  negation. 

"Then,"  said  Karl,  in  accents  of  defeat,  "I 
reckon  I've  got  to  wait  until  you  really  have  grown 
up,  till  you  start  reading  novels — which  I  think 
will  be  pretty  soon  now. 

"  Yes,  you'll  be  at  it  soon,"  he  declared,  with  a 


THE  ICY  HEART  119 

glance  at  her  quivering  profile,  "  and  they'll  help 
you  to  learn  that  the  best  thing  of  all  is  just — love 
— and  that  love  brings  on  kisses,  as  springtime 
brings  flowers — and  bad  colds.  Don't  that  elo- 
quence move  you? 

"  Not  a  bit,  you  thick-headed  bungler,"  the  rueful 
young  man  made  reply  to  himself.  "  And  you 
soundly  deserve  it.  Well,  we're  here  at  your  gate. 
You  won't  urge  me  to  enter?  Of  course  not !  Then 
good-bye — but  at  least,  just  to  keep  me  from  going 
away  with  my  fists  in  my  eyes,  and  my  golden 
head  covered  with  ashes — let's  shake  hands." 

The  crimson  and  tremulous  face  was  still  shyly 
averted.  After  what  appeared  to  Karl  as  a  short, 
intense  struggle,  the  girl  shifted  her  books  to  her 
left  arm,  and  extended,  at  an  angle  behind  her, 
the  hand -that  was  free. 

The  man  grasped  it  in  both  of  his  own, — "  The 
Icy  Heart  "  having  fallen  to  the  curbing,  and  began 
a  slow,  meaning  pressure. 

"Don't  do  that!"  Sophie  whispered  in  a 
strangled  voice. 

Trenham  held  it  the  mare  firmly.  A  peculiar 
tingling  sensation,  not  unlike  that  produced  by  a 
volt  of  electricity  took  possession  of  Sophie's  right 
arm.  It  crept  to  her  shoulder  and  spread  upward 
in  a  hot  scarlet  flame,  to  her  throat.  In  a  frenzy 
she  tugged  at  her  fingers — repeating,  "  Please  stop, 
Mr.  Karl!" 

"  Say  first — you  forgive  me." 


120  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Never — never !  " 

"  Then,"  said  he  very  gravely,  as  one  who  had 
come  with  reluctance  to  a  certain  dark  need,  "  I 
fear  I'll  be  driven  to  kiss  you." 

At  this,  the  young  figure  whirled  around. 

"  Just  you  try! "  she  defied  him.  So  swift  was 
the  impetuous  turn,  that  her  hand  was  wrenched 
free.  She  stooped  for  the  silly  red-backed  novel, 
and  before  Karl  could  catch  her,  had  started  upon 
the  long  path  to  the  house,  like  a  fawn  that  dogs 
were  pursuing. 

Half  way  up,  while  still  fleeing,  she  threw  a  gay 
laughing  glance  backward. 

Karl  had  already  gone  from  the  place,  leaving 
the  small  gate  ajar,  looking  pathetically  foolish 
and  empty. 

Sophie  stood  very  still  for  a  moment,  then  con- 
tinued her  way  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CHRIS   TRIES   TO  TELL   HIS   SECRET 

NEXT  morning,  it  was  a  transformed  and 
radiant  Sophie  who  went  forth  in  the  sun- 
shine to  school. 

In  dressing,  she  had  put  on  her  best  gown,  that 
was  vastly  becoming;  and  when  Mary  faintly  de- 
murred, her  daughter  gave  as  a  reason  that  this 
was  Mildred  Gaither's  birthday,  and,  as  Letty's 
boon  friend,  she  Sophie,  had  been  asked  to  the 
special  dinner. 

"  Is  it  to  be  a  big  party,  or  only  home-folks?  " 
the  mother  now  asked. 

"  Only  me  and  that  Trenham  man,  I  believe," 
was  the  answer,  in  a  voice  that  was  consciously 
airy.  Sophie's  long  talk  with  Karl  had  of  course 
not  been  mentioned.  "  That's  another,"  she  said, 
as  she  thrust  on  her  red  Tarn  o'  Shanter,  "  that 
Miss  Ossie  is  crazy  about — and  I  have  an  idea 
Milly  is,  too." 

Mary  started.  "  Not  crazy  about  young  Mr. 
Trenham?"  she  queried,  in  a  low,  half-frightened 
tone. 

"And  suppose  that  she  is?"  Sophie  challenged, 

121 


122  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

her  cheeks  flaming  scarlet.  "  Lots  of  people  think 
that  he's  awfully  handsome." 

"  That  is  not  it,"  Mary  said  in  the  same  troubled 
way.  "  But  there  can  never  be  anything  but  friend- 
ship, a  cousinly  friendship,  between  them." 

Sophie  stared,  then  brightened  with  smiles.  "  I 
guess  you  are  right,  Mother  dear.  After  all,  they 
really  are  cousins." 

Later  in  the  same  afternoon,  Mary  built  up  the 
dining-room  fire,  and  settled  herself  for  what  she 
supposed  at  least  two  further  hours  of  waiting. 
Almost  immediately,  a  step  on  the  gravel  outside 
caused  tke  worker  to  lift  her  sleek  head. 

It  was  surely  a  man.  Not  James  Gaither,  for  the 
tread  was  too  solid.  "  It  is  old  Chris !  "  Mary 
smiled,  speaking  under  her  breath. 

"Had  a  party  down  our  way.  I  left  it!"  an- 
nounced the  visitor  superfluously,  when  the  usual 
greetings  were  over. 

"  And  came  right  here  to  me,"  Mary  continued 
the  statement,  "  because  you  were  afraid  I  was 
lonely.  Dear  old  Chris.  You  are  always  so 
thoughtful." 

"  Don't  you  praise  me  too  much,  till  you  hear 
the  facts,"  Chris  rejoined,  looking  faintly  em- 
barrassed. "  It's  plumb  true  that  I  knew  you  was 
lonesome,  and  it's  one  reason  I  came.  But  there 
is  something " 

"  You  haven't  yet  told  me  a  word  of  the  birthday 


dinner,"  Mary  put  in  hastily.  "  Did  dear  Mildred 
enjoy  it?  " 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Mary,"  the  man  protested,  "  I 
didn't  slip  off  from  the  rest,  and  come  here,  to 
spend  words  on  parties.  I  had  something  to  say — 
something  special."  He  paused,  moving  uneasily. 
"  It's  about  my  own  self — my  private  and  personal 
business.  I've  been  aiming  to  tell  it  you  long." 

Mary,  spreading  the  pink  cloth  she  was  em- 
broidering on  her  knee,  regarded  a  half-finished 
bit  of  her  work  with  absorption. 

"  To  tell  me?  Why,  how  nice,"  she  remarked 
abstractedly.  Yes,  that  rose  was  a  wee  trifle 
smaller  than  the  rest.  She  must  go  around  the 
edges  once  more. 

"  You  see,  someway s,  Miss  Mary,"  the  man  hob- 
bled forward,  "  the  telling  is  your  due.  But  for 
you  and  that  old  Memory  Book  what  you  made 
me  begin " 

Mary's  thoughts  dropped  the  rose.  "  That  / 
made  you,"  she  smiled  looking  pleased  and  as- 
tonished. "  Why,  Chris,  I  have  never  until  now, 
even  heard  that  you  had  one." 

"  Maybe  not,"  he  conceded.  "  That  don't  alter 
the  facts.  I  began  it  the  first  evening  I  met 
you " 

"  Out  in  Aunt  Baring's  yard,  near  the  fence," 
Mary  caught  up  the  theme. 

"  Yes,"  said  Chris,  "  I  had  fell  so  in  love,  in  a 
manner,  that  I  had  to  write  it  or  burst." 


124  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Hallonquist,  the  flush  on  her 
cheek  matching  his.  "  That  belongs  to  the  long, 
long  past.  How  happy  we  were  then — how 
ignorant  of  sorrows.  Now  to  think  we  are  just 
two  sober  middle-aged  friends.  But  at  least  we 
are  glad  of  our  friendship,  are  we  not?  "  she  threw 
in  with  a  comforting  glance,  and  an  emphasis  under 
the  "  friend." 

"  Ye-e-es,"  the  man  replied.  "  But,  the  time's 
come  to  tell  you.  It  is  right  I  should  do  it,  and  the 
telling  is  got  to  be  now." 

He  had  turned  partly  about  in  his  armchair. 
His  restless  deportment,  a  something  determined 
and  vaguely  excited  that  showed  in  his  face,  gave 
Mary  her  first  touch  of  warning. 

She  caught  up  a  needle,  and  began  to  measure 
off  in  the  air  a  length  of  embroidery  cotton.  Chris 
paused  for  a  moment  to  watch  her.  How 
slender,  and  pointed  and  waxen  the  small  fingers 
were! 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  more  gently,  "  it  ain't  often 
I  get  such  a  chance— only  the  two  of  us  drawed  up 
like  this,  warm  and  cosy,  in  front  of  your  fire. 
Most  frequent  when  I'm  here,  that  daughter  of 
yours  is  whirling  the  house  around  her  head  like 
a  big  watchman's  rattle.  Well,  Miss  Mary,  you'll 
sure  be  astounded,  I  reckon " 

So  far,  he  had  pushed  on,  when  once  more  em- 
barrassment gripped  him.  "  I'm  a  wee  bit  afraid, 
now  I've  worked  myself  up  to  the  point  of  reveal- 


ing  my  secret,  you'll  be  cross  because  I  didn't  tell 
you  sooner." 

Mary  set  grave  eyes  upon  him.  There  was 
something  behind  all  of  this  prelude,  and  mys- 
terious parrying,  intended  to  convey  a  deep  sense 
of  importance.  But  what  in  the  world  could  poor 
Chris  really  know  or  divulge  that  could  bring 
her  a  shock  of  surprise? 

As  she  gazed,  thus  revolving  her  own  thoughts, 
and  only  vaguely  aware  of  the  object  on  which  her 
regard  seemed  so  fixed,  Chris  sank  slowly  down 
into  the  depths  of  his  chair.  Now  he  lifted  one 
hand  and  drove  back,  like  a  harrow,  through  his 
thick,  nondescript  hair.  The  effect  was  alarming. 
Chris  bristled. 

Mary's  sensations  were  those  of  a  mouse  in  a 
trap.  "Would  you  care,"  she  asked  quickly,  "if 
I  finished  threading  this  needle  before  you  begin?  " 

"  No,"  Chris  said,  though  his  whole  soul  pro- 
tested, and  in  the  queer  silence  that  followed,  he 
began  cracking  the  joints  of  his  fingers. 

Mary  jabbed  with  the  thread  at  her  needle,  but 
it  passed  every  time.  Perhaps  the  bright  eye  was 
winking.  Her  friend  endured  it  as  long  as  he 
could,  then  wheeled  about  in  the  firelight. 

"  Ain't  that  dad-burned  young  needle  threaded 
yet?  "  he  cried.  "  Here,  you  give  her  to  me." 

He  held  forth  steady  hands.  Those  of  the  woman 
were  each  one  shaking  in  a  separate  ague. 

"  Never  mind,  I  don't  think  I  care  to  keep  on 


126  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

with  the  work.  Oh,  dear  Chris — dear,  dear  friend," 
Mary  pleaded.  "  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  better 
to  speak?  " 

Chris's  mouth  opened.  "  Of  course  I'm  sure. 
That  is  all  that  brought  me.  If  I  don't  say  it 
now,  it'll  stay  stuck  in  my  gullet  forever.  No,  it's 
got  to  come  out.  What  I'm  praying  my  Maker 
right  now,''  he  went  on  more  than  half  to  himself, 
"  is  whatever  you  say  or  you  do,  you  won't  laugh 
when  I  tell  you." 

Mary  could  have  wept.  Poor  old  Chris — poor 
faithful  and  hopeless  adorer.  How  could  even 
he  think  it  a  secret !  Why,  all  Dunrobin  knew  how 
entirely  he  loved  her. 

"  You  are  perfectly  sure,"  she  faltered,  "  that  you 
must  tell  me  now?  Oh,  dear  Chris, — can't  you  see 
what  you're  doing?  " 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  stare.  What  on  earth 
could  be  ailing  Miss  Mary?  He  had  not  given  her 
a  clue,  not  a  hint  of  his  secret,  and  here  she  was 
white  as  a  ghost,  her  eyes  black  with  fear.  Chris 
was  fully  aware  of  how  little  he  knew  about  women. 

He  shook  his  big,  tousled  head.  Already  he  felt 
himself  balked,  if  not  wholly  defeated.  "  Perhaps 
you  air  right  in  them  words,"  he  said  dully. 
"  Maybe  I  am  a  fool  to  believe  you  would  care, 
just  because  I  am  caring.  It's  made  so  much 
difference  to  me — all  the  difference  between  being 
a  lonesome,  dumb  critter,  and  a  man  with  a  light 
in  his  heart.  But  don't  think  I'm  faulting  you, 


CHRIS  TRIES  TO  TELL  HIS  SECRET     127 

Miss  Mary.  I  ought  to  have  known  it  was  nothing 
you  wanted  to  hear.  I'm  faulting  myself  for  my 
being  conceited  enough  to  think  you  ever  could 
want  it,"  he  stopped  short,  with  a  crestfallen  air. 

Mary  swallowed  a  lump  in  her  throat.  "  Oh 
Chris — my  dear  faithful  comrade  and  friend,'1  she 
said  sadly,  "  can't  you  see  there  is  no  question 
of  '  faulting'?  I  am  honoured  and  proud  when  I 
think  of  the  thing  you  would  tell  me.  I'd  be 
less  than  a  woman  if  I  did  not  feel  honoured  and 
proud.  Yet  I  say  again,  Chris — as  if  I  were  really 
your  own  loving  sister,  don't  hurt  us  both,  dear, 
by  declaring  it.  As  a  fact,"  here  she  smiled,  and 
tried  to  give  a  small  playful  shake  of  the  head — 
at  which  two  shining  tears  fell  on  Sophie's  pink 
linen,  and  spread  into  wafers  of  brown,  "  I  already 
know  what  you're  trying  to  tell  me.  I  have  known 
it  for  years." 

"  You  have  known  it !  "  cried  he,  in  blank  won- 
der. "  Why  you  couldn't,  Miss  Mary,  not  hardly. 
It  didn't  begin  in  my  life  till  more  than  two  years 
a-gone.  And  it's  been  done  so  quiet — all  through 
letters No,  you  couldn't,"  he  stated  with  com- 
plete conviction.  "  It's  been  kept  all  in  myself. 
There  wasn't  no  way  in  which  you  or  nobody  else 
could  even  suspicion." 

Mrs.  Hallonquist's  under  lids  straightened.  She 
repeated  these  words  to  herself,  and  then  asked  of 
that  stunned  person,  "  Did  my  ears  hear  correctly? 
Am  I  losing  my  senses?  " 


128  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  No,  don't  go,  Chris !  "  she  pleaded,  as  she  saw 
the  great  frame  begin  to  lift  itself  from  the  chair. 
"  I  am  stupid.  All  along,  I've  been  thinking  you 
meant — something  else.  I  see  my  mistake.  Please 
go  on  with  what  you  were  saying." 

It  was  Chris  who  now  looked  puzzled.  "  You 
were  thinking  I  meant  something  else? "  he  re- 
peated. 

Mary  waved  a  vehement  gesture.  "  Never  mind, 
• — don't  try  to  think  what  it  was, — just  one  of  my 
own  silly  fancies.  Please,  dear  Chris,  please  keep 
on.  I  do  want  so  to  hear  it." 

"  I'm  mistrustful  about  keeping  on,"  he  said 
gently,  though  his  brows  were  still  frowning.  "  I 
have  already  seen  that  you  wouldn't  care  much  for 
my  secret." 

"But  I  would — and  I  do!"  cried  out  Mary  dis- 
turbed and  trembling.  "  I  want  to  be  told  almost 
more  than  I  ever  wanted  a  thing  in  my  life. 
Doesn't  that  convince  you?  " 

"  Ye-e-s,"  Chris  replied,  "  and  it's  mighty  plumb 
sweet  in  you  for  to  keep  on  insisting,  but  it  seems 
kinder  small  pickings  now,  after  all  of  this  beat- 
ing around  the  bushes — and  it's  right  fair  to  warn 
you,  Miss  Mary,  that  when  you  are  told  it  won't 
mean  as  much  to  your  mind,  as  one  jar  of  your 
famous  peach  jelly." 

"  I'll  risk  that,"  Mary  bantered,  and  tried  to 
speak  archly.  "  Now  begin,  dear  old  friend,"  she 
encouraged. 


CHRIS  TRIES  TO  TELL  HIS  SECRET     129 

Chris  sighed.  All  the  savour  had  gone  from  his 
disclosure. 

"  As  I  already  hinted,"  he  said  rather  tonelessly, 
"  it  began  about  two  years  a-gone." 

"  Two  whole  years ! "  his  companion  repeated, 
the  protest  beyond  her  control.  "  And  you're  tell- 
ing me  now, — not  till  now!" 

She  bit  her  lips  sharply  together,  and  her  small 
head  went  high  in  the  air ;  while  before  her,  Chris's 
shaggy  poll  began  sinking,  as  if  on  the  opposite 
end  of  a  see-saw. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  put  in  quickly,  "  forgive  me 
this  time  for  the  interruption.  I  won't  do  it  again." 

"  It  was  two  year  a-gone,"  said  the  man,  again 
seating  himself  at  the  loom  of  narration,  "  at  a 
time  when  my  life  didn't  seem  much  worth  the 
living." 

"  Oh,  Chris !  "  Mary  bewailed,  forgetting  her 
promise  of  only  an  instant  before,  "  how  can  you 
say  such  a  thing,  while  remembering  our  beautiful 
friendship!  It  has  been  so  much  to  me, — my 
strength  and  my  comfort.  In  fact,  Chris,"  here  the 
voice  was  reverently  lowered,  "  I  have  thought  it 
an  affection  quite  sacred" 

"  Oh,  it's  sacred  all  right,"  Chris  lightly  con- 
ceded, being  somewhat  on  edge  with  the  incessant 
breaks  in  his  tale,  "  but  it  didn't  appear — in  a 
manner — to  fill  all  the  nooks  and  the  crannies 
a  fellow  is  bound  to  conceal." 

"  And — and — this  new  thing  that's  come  to  you," 


130  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Mary  faltered,  "  does  it  make  your  life  more  worth 
the  living?  " 

"  You  can  reckon !  "  cried  he.  "  And  the  funniest 
part  of  it  all  is  that  it  was  done  just  through 
letters ! "  A  thump  on  his  proud,  swelling  chest, 
evoked  a  sharp  crackle  of  papers. 

"  All — through — letters!  "  the  dazed  woman 
echoed.  "  Then  this  is  the  reason  you've  been  able 
to  keep  the  great  secret  from  all  of  your  friends?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  Chris  acceded.  "  And  I  totes  them 
around  with  my  going.  Every  letter  is  here,"  he 
annouaced,  as  his  hand  moved  up  toward  his  breast 
pocket. 

He  stared  now  into  the  fire,  his  face  taking  on 
the  shy,  sheepish  look  of  a  boy  caught  too  late  for 
redress  in  some  fruitful  brigandage.  The  hand  over 
the  pocket  that  rested  against  his  heart,  moved 
softly,  and  then  lay  quiescent,  as  one  touches  a 
thing  love  has  brought. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MISS  LIZZY  LYCOSA 

THE  silence  that  now  filled  the  room  seemed 
to  Mary's  blurred  vision  a  quivering,  palpable 
mist.  Chris's  large  frame  wavered  through 
it,  and  appeared  as  a  throbbing  balloon  about  to 
float  up  from  its  moorings. 

She  caught  at  the  sides  of  her  chair,  and  pressed 
hard  to  its  stiff  oaken  back,  until  her  spine  was 
as  moveless  and  rigid. 

For  the  first  time  in  all  of  her  sensitive  life,  she 
was  feeling  the  lash  of  self -scorn ;  and  was  tasting 
the  hyssop  and  myrrh  of  bruised  pride. 

The  woman  across  from  Chris  Laird,  now  re- 
called— as  one  presses  a  thorn — all  of  the  fatuous 
pity  she  had  given.  Here,  beside  her  own  hearth, 
during  the  half  hour  just  passed,  she  had  been 
fighting  a  duel  of  phrases,  in  order  to  keep  her 
visitor  at  bay.  She  had  been  praying  in  snatches, 
and  striving  to  find  tender,  merciful  words  in 
which  to  reject  him !  And  all  of  this  time  her 
good  friend — no  longer  a  suppliant  lover — had 
been  trying  to  tell  her  that  his  heart  now  belonged 
to  another,  to  a  woman  of  whom  Mary  had  never 
heard. 

131 


132  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

She  longed  to  cry  out  to  herself,  "  Oh,  you  foolish 
and  blind,  let  the  earth  rise  and  cover  you ! "  but 
instead,  she  sat  on  like  a  thing  carved  in  wood. 

Through  her  chaos,  the  shrewd  voice  of  vanity 
pleaded,  "  At  least  keep  it  from  him.  He  must 
never  suspect  this  abasement." 

"  I — I — I'm  so  taken  aback,  dear  old  Chris," 
she  got  out  at  last,  "  that  you  won't  be  surprised 
if  I  can't  find  the  words  that  I  need,— all  at  once 
to  express  my  feelings." 

"  Take  all  the  time  that  you  care  for,  Miss  Mary. 
I'm  a  slow  hand  at  speaking  myself." 

At  this  pleasant  and  casual  tone,  Mary's  visual 
focus  cleared.  She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  as 
though  she  had  never  really  seen  this  old  comrade 
before. 

He  was  lounging  at  ease,  one  hand  still  on  his 
letters,  the  other  swung  down  toward  the  floor. 
His  profile,  which  as  usual  canted  forward  a  little, 
was  gilded  by  flickering  firelight. 

She  saw  sweetness,  strength,  honesty,  truth — 
the  clean  soul  of  the  lad  from  the  mountains  shin- 
ing out  in  the  face  of  the  man,  like  the  sun  through 
tall  trees. 

Again  self-respect  nudged  her.  She  could  not 
keep  silent  forever.  She  must  drive  her  maimed 
senses  from  out  of  their  corner,  and  beat  about 
for  conventional  phrases  in  which  to  assure  the 
old  friend  of  her  joy  in  his  joy. 

Yet  why,  since  he  was  only  a  friend,  should  she 


MISS  LIZZY  LYCOSA  133 

feel  that  her  whole  house  of  life  was  beginning 
to  crumble? 

"  I'm  so  glad  for  your  sake,  I  congratulate  you 
most  heartily,"  Mary  heard  her  own  high-pitched 
voice  now  declaring,  "  but  I  am  so  surprised !  " 

"  I  don't  handily  see  how  you  can  be  surprised," 
Chris  rejoined  with  a  slight  smile,  "  since  you 
don't  know  it  yet,  in  a  manner." 

"  Not  in  actual  words,"  Mary  parried,  "  but  of 
course,  from  your  looks,  from  those  letters!  "  Here 
she  lifted  arch  brows,  and  shook  a  raised  finger, 
which,  indeed,  required  no  further  volition  in 
shaking.  "  So — out  with  it  all.  And  remember, 
no  more  naughty  secrets." 

"  No  more  secrets,"  Chris  amiably  echoed.  "  But 
what  is  the  matter,  Miss  Mary?  Why  air  you 
shivering  so  fierce,  air  you  puny?  " 

"  Why,  certainly  not! "  she  cried,  with  a  laugh 
so  queer  and  unnatural,  that  Chris  swivelled  round 
in  his  chair. 

"  Yes,  you  air,"  he  insisted.  "  You're  ailing. 
Let  me  fetch  you  some  water." 

Mary  allowed  him  to  go  into  the  pantry,  and  was 
grateful  indeed  for  the  cool,  bracing  draught. 

"  Now  I'm  quite  myself  again,"  she  assured  him, 
"  and  I  won't  wait  another  half -minute  to  be  told." 

"Prick  your  ears  then,"  said  Chris,  "  for  it's  com- 
ing. It  begun  with  the  day  I  first  found  my  Miss 
Lizzy  Lycosa." 

"  Miss  Ly-co-sa,"  shrilled  his  listener,  striving 


134  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

hard  for  composure.  "  I  don't  know  the  name. 
It  can't  be  Virginian.  Where  on  earth  did  you 
happen  to  find  her?  " 

"  On  the  edge  of  your  Hallonquist  Park,  just 
before  Whitlock's  men  began  to  cut  timber,"  Chris 
replied  in  a  commonplace  way. 

"  What's  her  birthplace — the  town  she  came 
from?"  Mary  parried,  and  at  the  moment  was 
wondering  how  long  she  could  keep  up  the 
strain. 

"Why,  how  do  I  know?  I  can't  very  well  ask 
her,"  said  Chris.  Then  he  laughecl.  "  I  persume 
that  I  could, — but  you  can  reckon  the  answer  she'd 
give  me." 

"  What  a  very  queer  person,"  thought  Mary. 
"  She's  Northern,  of  course,  one  of  those  active 
and  large-booted  females,  who  stride  like  a  man. 
She  had  doubtless  been  scouring  Dunrobin  for 
miles  about,  while  here  on  a  visit,  and  in  that  way 
Chris  must  have  met  her." 

"And  you  have  grown  to  care  very  much?  "  she 
questioned  him  next,  in  words  slightly  disjointed 
and  shaken. 

"  My  Miss  Lizzy's  a  pippin,"  he  answered.  "  All 
my  luck's  come  from  the  minute  I  saw  her.  I 
went  home  and  wrote.  But  first,  I  put  it  all  down 
in  my  Memory  Book  like  I  have  told  you, — then 
I  wrote  it  out  plain  on  a  pad " 

"You  wanted  to  keep  those  first  precious  im- 
pressions of  meeting,"  said  Mary,  achieving  the 


MISS  LIZZY  LYCOSA  135 

hint  of  a  smile.  "  Just  as, — so  long  ago, — you 
wrote  about  me  in  the  garden?  " 

"  That  same  way,"  nodded  Chris.  "  You  see, 
from  the  instant  I  spied  her,  I  knew  she  was  dif- 
ferent, somehow." 

"  Of  course,"  got  out  his  companion,  ice  gather- 
ing about  her  heart. 

"And  I  studied  her  cute  little  ways,  and  her 
smartness.  You  can  hear  me!  She  wasn't  any 
too  pleased  at  my  spying,"  chuckled  the  man,  look- 
ing knowing  and  sly.  "  But  I  couldn't  go  'way, 
in  a  manner.  Not  after  I  saw  that  pretty  white 
ball  banging  round  from  one  ankle." 

"  What !  "  shrieked  Mary,  but  Chris,  now  intent 
on  his  subject,  jogged  placidly  on. 

"  In  my  writing,  I  aimed  first,  to  describe  her 
exactly,  putting  down  every  point  as  I  saw  it. 
I  described  how  her  beady  eyes  glittered,  and  how 
she  ruffled  that  heavy  black  fur  on  her  sides " 

"  Chris  Laird !  You  are  demented ! — or  I  am," 
gasped  Mary,  for  the  chandelier  over  the  table  had 
begun  to  spin  round  like  a  top.  "  Please  say  all 
of  that  over  again,  and  a  little  more  slowly, — I 
don't  seem  to  take  in " 

Just  then  a  loud  noise  was  heard  on  the  porch, 
and  a  moment  later  Sophie  burst  into  the  room 
followed  by  Letty. 

"We — we — ran!"  panted  the  former,  for  both 
girls  were  entirely  out  of  breath.  "  Letty's  to  stay 
here  with  me  for  the  night,  Mother.  We  will  sleep 


136  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

in  the  trunk-room.  A  bed's  there,  and  we'll  spread 
our  own  covers,"  she  declared,  in  response  to  a 
sound  of  dismay  from  Mrs.  Hallonquist. 

"  Hello,  Uncle  Chris,"  the  excited  young  voice 
rattled  on.  "  So  it's  here  where  you  came  to. 

"  Come  on,  Lett,"  Sophie  cried,  wheeling  out 
from  the  firelit  circle.  "  We've  got  to  go  hunting 
for  covers,  and  make  up  our  bed.  Mother,  where  do 
you  keep  the  old  blankets?  " 

"  I  can  see  I'm  not  wanted,"  said  Chris  with  a 
humorous  smile.  "  Well,  good-night,  Miss  Mary." 

"  Must  you  go  right  away,  Chris?  I  wanted, " 

his  hostess  began,  then  seeing  that  both  girls  had 
paused,  and  were  listening,  held  "her  hand  for 
farewell.  "  Good-bye,  if  you  must  leave  us.  But 
please  come  soon  again,  very  soon.  I'll  expect 
you." 

As  the  visitor  left  the  house,  both  young  crea- 
tures broke  forth  into  violent  giggles.  There  was 
no  reason  for  their  mirth,  except  the  sheer  joy  of 
being  together,  yet  Mary  flushed  painfully,  and 
as  the  two  girls  left  the  room,  she  sank  down,  white 
and  trembling,  with  scarcely  enough  of  vitality 
left  for  a  prayer. 

Meanwhile,  Chris  plodded  soberly  home.  He  was 
glad  to  be  out  in  the  air,  and  took  off  his  hat  to 
the  night's  coolness.  Now  and  then,  he  would  run 
a  large  hand  through  his  hair. 

"  It's  a  puzzling  world,"  he  announced  to  the 
cold  stars  above  him,  undeterred  by  the  thought 


MISS  LIZZY  LYCOSA  137 

that  the  same  speech  had  been  made  to  each 
heavenly  twinkler  in  turn,  "  and  the  puzzlin'est 
critters  it  breeds,  air  the  ladies." 

Not  until  his  small  den  was  reached,  the  gas 
lighted,  and  his  thick  Memory  Book  spread  in- 
vitingly open,  did  the  man  make  any  further  at- 
tempt to  unravel  the  intimate  snarls  of  his  medi- 
tations. • 

"Miss  Mary  was  different  tonight,  [he  inscribed], 
from  what  I  ever  have  known  her.  I  always  had 
hoped  she  would  be  tickled  to  hear  of  my  writing. 
It  has  brought  lots  of  fun  to  my  life.  I'm  sure  I'd 
be  mighty  much  pleased  if  a  happiness  like  this  had 
come  to  Miss  Mary.  But  women  are  funny  when  their 
minds  get  upset. 

There  was  more  than  one  time  in  our  talking,  when 
I'd  begun  to  get  het  up  in  speech,  that  I'd  have  to 
draw  rein  because  Miss  Mary  was  acting  so  curious. 
She  would  make  out  to  laugh,  and  the  very  next 
minute,  she  would  draw  herself  up  and  look  scary, 
as  if  I  was  going  to  smite  her.  I  have  never  smit 
anything  yet,  and  I  wouldn't  begin  on  Miss  Mary.  It 
has  got  my  bead  going  around  like  a  wheel  on  a 
pivot,  withouten  any  way  for  to  make  the  dad-burned 
whirligig  stop. 

I  had  took  up,  [here  he  paused,  extracted  a  penknife, 
and  erasing  the  bastard  word  '  took,'  carefully  printed 
in  'taken'],  a  copy  of  the  first  magazine  where  my 
writings  appeared.  My  name  was  all  printed  big  and 
fine  on  the  outside — '  Miss  Lizzy  Lycosa.  A  Study.  By 
Christopher  Laird.' 


138  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

I  always  thought  that  title  looked  splendid,  but 
I  never  came  anywhere  near  to  display  it  this  evening, 
for  just  as  Miss  Mary  smoothed  down,  and  began  firing 
questions  about  Lizzy  and  the  queer  looks  and  ways 
of  this  special  spider,  the  twro  girls  rushed  in  like 
young  catamounts  making  for  cover. 

I  moseyed.  There  warn't  no  use  of  trying  to  stay 
in  those  circumstances.  For  when  Sophie  is  near,  Miss 
Mary,  she  don't  listen  to  God,  or  man  or  beast — but 
only  to  Sophie.  She  is  being  eaten  up  by  that  daughter. 
as  is  also  the  case  with  a  new  kind  of  spider  I  recently 
found.  Yes,  that  blasted  old  mother,  when  her  young 
ones  are  hatched,  crawls  up  to  the  sun  in  my  window, 
and  she  is  sitting  there  yet,  inviting  and  urging  her 
children  to  come  and  help  themselves  to  her  portions. 
I  am  sure  that  she  likes  it,  she  acts  so  at  peace  and 
contented.  There  are  human  mothers  like  her,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  Miss  Mary  is  one  such. 

I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  the  new  piece  I  write 
for  that  Editor  Man,  what  makes  life  a  burden  with 
asking,  will  be  a  piece  with  the  name  of  it  '  Mothers.' 
I'll  study  Miss  Mary  some  more,  and  my  spider. 

Miss  Mary  is  showing  her  age,  but  she  is  still  sweet 
and  comely.  There  is  never  to  be  another  on  earth  for 
old  Chris  Laird,  though  I  am  thankful  to  say,  with 
this  writing,  the  misery  of  loving  that  I  once  suffered, 
is  passed  into  dear  friendship — like  a  kettle  of  syrup, 
with  the  fuzz  and  the  scum  all  skimmed  off.  I  wish, 
now  I  started,  that  I  had  been  able  to  finish  telling 
Miss  Mary,  for  I  don't  believe  I'm  ever  to  try  it  again, 
nohow.  She  acted  too  funny." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE 

THAT  night,  after  learning  Chris's  secret,  or, 
rather,  after  having  so  tragically  missed  his 
true  meaning,  Mrs.  Hallonquist  suffered 
through  hours  of  sleepless  and  barren  conjecture. 

To  add  to  her  morbid,  fantastic  condition  of 
mind,  Mary  chanced  to  be  one  of  those  timid  beings 
who  dread,  above  all  other  things,  to  sleep  quite 
alone. 

She  was  frightened  and  cold.  From  the  trunk- 
room  was  heard  an  incessant  ripple  and  murmur 
of  happy  young  voices,  broken  now  and  then  by  a 
half  smothered  outburst  of  giggles. 

Mary  hoped  from  her  soul  that  the  chatter  would 
keep  up  until  daybreak.  She  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  the  night's  sinister  silence  which  at 
any  hour  now,  might  descend  upon  the  cottage. 
She  hated  the  thought  of  being  left  alone  with 
those  mocking  and  stinging  reflections  which 
wheeled  through  the  room  like  grey  bats. 

Dear  old  Chris  was  in  love — her  own  Chris — her 
humble  adorer.  How  splendid  and  massive  he  had 
looked  sitting  there  in  front  of  her  fire. 

It  was  strange  that,  until  this  last  evening,  Mary 

139 


140  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Hallonquist  had  never  happened  to  notice  how 
pleasant  and  firm  were  his  features,  nor  how  the 
slow  humorous  smile  lit  them  up,  like  the  growing 
of  a  clear  dawn  on  a  hilltop. 

To  a  woman  who  loved  him — Miss  Lizzy  Lycosa, 
for  instance — not,  of  course  to  a  mere  sisterly 
friend — Chris  might  seem  really  handsome. 

"  Oh,  I'm  glad  he's  happy  at  last.  Dear  Father 
in  heaven, — make  my  old  friend  very,  very  happy," 
she  whispered,  and  then  suddenly  flung  about  to 
stifle  queer  sounds  in  her  pillow. 

Toward  morning,  the  girls  fell  asleep.  Mary 
instantly  rose,  lit  the  gas  and  began  to  read  her 
Bible. 

At  breakfast,  the  young  things  were  cross,  a 
natural  result  from  their  innocent  orgy  of  wakeful- 
ness.  Mary  bided  her  time,  and  then,  seeing  a 
reasonable  chance  to  introduce  the  question,  said 
to  Letty,  "  I  hear  that  Uncle  Chris  has  become 
quite  a  writer." 

"Yes,"  replied  Letty,  "  he's  eternally  locked  up 
in  that  old  room  of  his,  and  when  you  peep  at  him 
through  the  window,  he's  always  writing.  We 
don't  know  who  to,  but  he  gets  lots  of  letters." 

"  And  you  haven't  an  idea  wrhom  he  corresponds 
with?"  asked  Mary.  "How  strange!  I  should 
think  he  would  tell  you." 

"  Not  old  Uncle  Kiss,"  Letty  laughed.  "  He's 
as  sly  as  a  fox  when  it  comes  to  minding  his  own 
business.  We've  just  begged  him  to  tell  us.  When 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE  141 

a  new  letter  comes,  he  grabs  it  like  this" — Letty 
demonstrated  the  act  on  a  muffin, — "  and  he  goes 
around  the  house  all  day  long  so  silly  and  smiling 
that  we  nearly  die.  Milly  says,"  she  went  on, 
noting  how  intently  her  hostess  listened,  "  that  he's 
got  a  girl  somewhere  up  North, — nothing  else,  Milly 
says,  could  explain  it." 

"  It  sounds  possible,"  Mrs.  Hallonquist  answered, 
producing  the  farce  of  a  smile,  and  allowing  the 
brown  stream  of  coffee  which,  at  the  moment  she 
chanced  to  be  pouring,  to  dash  merrily  over  the 
edge  of  the  cup  to  the  table. 

Sophie,  perceiving  this  token  of  agitation,  gave 
a  light,  scornful  laugh.  "  Look  out,  Letty,"  she 
warned.  "  You  might  hurt  Mother's  feelings. 
Everybody  in  town  used  to  think  that  Uncle  Chris 
was  crazy  about  her." 

"Sophie!  Don't  be  so  vulgar!"  cried  Mary,  a 
very  sharp  edge  in  her  usually  gentle  voice. 

The  two  friends  exchanged  glances. 

"  It  is  too  absurd,  to  think  of  Uncle  Kiss  bother- 
ing himself  about  any  kind  of  a  sweetheart,"  Letty 
remarked,  with  an  air  of  dismissing  the  subject. 
"  All  he  cares  for  on  earth  are  those  bugs  he  has 
up  in  his  room." 

Later,  when  the  two  grumbling,  protesting  young 
things  had  started  to  school,  Mary,  like  a  manikin 
working  in  a  dream,  went  through  the  usual  process 
of  tidying  her  chamber.  She  made  her  bed,  then 
went  into  the  trunk-room,  to  throw  back  the  covers 


142  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

under  which  the  gigglers  had  slept.  Her  whole 
being  was  heavy  and  lethargic,  dragged  down — so 
she  thought — for  the  want  of  normal  rest. 

When  Tempey  appeared,  to  demand  in  her  gruf- 
fest of  tones,  "  What  you  thinkin'  we  kin  have  fer 
dinner  an'  supper?  ''  and  her  mistress  caught  sight 
of  the  turban  of  menacing  red,  Mary  made  up  her 
mind  on  the  instant  to  get  from  the  house. 

"  I'll  just  step  down  to  Weldon's,"  she  said  to 
herself,  when  the  domestic  contentions  were  over, 
"  and  buy  Sophie  that  striped  flannel  jacket  she's 
been  begging  me  to  get  her  for  an  age.  Let  me 
see,"  the  mother  pondered,  a  thoughtful  look  steal- 
ing into  her  blue  eyes,  "  now  what  was  the  colour 
she  wanted?  Was  it  red  or  brown?  I  believe 
Weldon  has  them  in  all  of  the  new  shades.  No,  it 
is  blue,  to  match  her  new  sailor  hat." 

On  her  way  to  the  gate,  Mary  espied  a  pale 
rose  flushed  like  the  dawn,  and  as  fragrant.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation,  she  gathered  the  flower  and 
pinned  it  close  to  her  throat.  "  If  I  should  meet 
old  Chris,"  she  was  thinking,  "  I'll  not  let  him  go, 
until  I've  found  out  every  word  about  that  strange 
person  he's  going  to  marry." 

But  alas,  though  Mary  and  the  rose  happened, 
with  fluttering  pulses,  to  pass,  more  than  once,  by 
the  door  of  the  office  of  Page  &  Youngblood,  In- 
surance and  Real  Estate  Dealers,  Dunrobin,  no 
Chris  was  to  be  seen. 

Mary's  one  promise  of  personal  pleasure  was  a 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE  143 

long  and  intimate  chat  with  her  friend,  Sally 
Finger. 

"  Is  Miss  Ossie  Laird  as  much  of  a  reader  as 
ever? "  was  the  first  query  that  the  visitor 
launched. 

When  informed  that  Miss  Laird  browsed  more 
in  the  realm  of  biography,  travel  and  history,  than 
in  the  mushroom -starred  fields  of  new  fiction,  Mary 
ventured,  in  a  tone  still  more  lightly  indifferent, 
"  And  her  brother — my  dear  old  friend  Chris — does 
he  ever  come  here  to  the  library?  " 

"  Yes,  right  often,"  Miss  Sally  replied  quickly, 
and,  under  the  questioner's  eyes,  seemed  to  take  on 
a  hint  of  self-consciousness. 

"  He  is  here  after  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica, 
and  the  few  works  we  have  on  biology  and  natural 
history.  Did  you  ever  see  any  one  improve,"  she 
cried  out,  as  if  impulse  had  proved  over-strong  for 
discretion,  "  as  Mr.  Laird  has  been  doing  of  late? 
He  reminds  me,  in  looks,  of  splendid  old  Darwin, 
only  younger,  of  course,  and  much  handsomer. 
Really,  Mary,"  the  speaker  declared,  now  coy  and 
indubitably  blushing,  "  when  that  young  man  looks 
around  in  the  big  way  he  has,  and  begins  that 
attractive,  slow  smiling — why " 

"  Well,  I  must  say  good-bye,"  was  Mary's  brief 
rejoinder.  "  Thanks  for  finding  me  another  nice 
novel.  I  must  hurry  home,  I  am  late  now." 

On  her  return  journey,  Mrs.  Hallonquist's  path 
was  not  strewn  with  roses. 


144  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Could  it  possibly  be  Sally  Finger — that  plain 
old  maid?  No — "  the  answer  came  at  once,  bring- 
ing a  queer  sense  of  escape  from  a  horror — "  Chris 
said  it  was  all  done  through  letters — and  there's 
no  need  of  his  writing  to  Miss  Sally." 

At  the  first  step  on  the  porch  as  the  day  wore  on, 
Mary  ran  to  the  door.  "  I've  been  down  to 
Weldon's,  Sophie  dear,  and  have  bought  you  the 
jacket  you  wanted,"  hurrying  to  speak,  before  the 
daughter  could  do  more  than  meet  her  mother's 
bright  look  with  a  scowl. 

The  sombre  eyes  lightened.  "Oh,  how  jolly! 
I'm  ever  so  much  obliged.  I  wanted  to  wear  it  this 
very  evening.  I  hope  you  remembered  that  I  told 
you  to  get  the  stripes  broivn." 

Through  the  tense  strain  of  dinner,  Mary  sat 
without  speaking  a  word.  Tempey  puffed  in  and 
out,  with  her  red  crest  of  warning,  while  old  Grief, 
in  the  yard,  could  be  heard  sawing  wood. 

As  Sophie's  last  mouthful  was  finished,  she 
threw  down  her  spoon  and  announced,  "  I  suppose 
I  might  as  well  take  that  old  thing  back,  and  be 
through  with  it.  I  won't  wear  blue  stripes." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  are  bent  upon  it,"  Mary  re- 
sponded in  a  martyrized  voice,  "  but,  I'd  advise  you 
to  change  that  crumpled  and  dirty  gingham  you 
have  on  for  a  clean  one.  I  see  you've  been  spilling 
more  ink." 

It  had  been  Sophie's  intention  to  change,  but  her 
mother's  suggestion,  and  the  weary,  resigned  tone 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE  145 

in  which  it  was  spoken,  roused  in  the  girl  some- 
thing perverse,  almost  hostile.  She  canght  at  the 
skirt,  held  it  out  for  inspection,  and  then  stated, 
"  No,  I'm  going  down  just  exactly  as  I  am.  What 
do  I  care  who  sees  me?  " 

As  Mary  made  no  further  comment,  her  daughter 
demanded  rudely,  "  Where  is  that  horrible  jacket 
you  bought?  Have  you  tied  up  the  bundle  again?  " 

"  If  you  want  it  tied  up  you  can  do  it  yourself," 
Mrs.  Hallonquist  said  quietly,  and  taking  a  book, 
prepared  to  seat  herself  near  the  fire. 

Sophie  gasped.  Was  this  really  her  mother? 
Or,  had  she,  the  indulged  and  intractable  daughter, 
gone,  for  once,  a  little  too  far? 

The  paper  in  which  the  parcel  had  come,  having 
been  crushed  into  a  vibrating  ball,  now  lay  on  the 
hearth.  Swooping  down  upon  it,  and  without 
searching  for  the  twine,  Sophie  wrapped  the  jacket 
at  random,  and  flew  from  the  house. 

For  a  while  anger  drove  her  along,  but  within 
sight  of  the  Gaither's  front  gate  her  swift  pace 
lessened,  and  at  the  same  moment,  she  jerked  with 
a  vicious  impatience  at  her  now  sagging  bundle. 
The  movement  loosened  one  long  sleeve,  that  fell 
from  its  place,  and  was  soon  flapping  about 
Sophie's  knees,  occasionally  striking  one  of  her 
ankles.  Her  hat  had  slipped  over  one  eye,  and 
the  splashes  of  ink  on  her  skirt  seemed  to  spread 
with  each  flutter  of  the  untidy  gingham. 

Rapid  strides  ensued  in  an  effort  to  reach  the 


146  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Weldon  store,  and  the  corner  of  the  Gaither's  iron 
fence  was  reached,  when  the  front  door  opened 
wide,  and  two  smart,  well-groomed  figures  emerged, 
arm  in  arm. 

The  speeder  stopped  short.  It  was  Karl,  and 
an  elaborately  dressed  Mildred.  Her  immaculate 
gloves  held  aloft  an  expensive  sunshade,  white,  and 
veiled  with  ruffles  of  blue  chiffon. 

Even  thus,  on  the  horrified  instant,  Sophie  saw 
that  the  young  man's  companion  had  never  looked 
more  attractive. 

She  knew  where  they  were  going.  The  Whit- 
lock's  big  Northern-built  house  had  at  last  been 
completed.  The  great  oaks  and  beeches  of  Hallon- 
quist  Park  threw  a  rich  shade  down  upon  the  wide 
porte-cochere,  and  on  the  railless  verandahs  of  the 
stately  building.  The  proud  owners  were  giving 
the  first  formal  afternoon  reception  that  Dunrobin 
had  ever  known. 

"  Of  course  Karl  would  be  going,"  Sophie  bit- 
terly recognized.  "  The  Whitlocks  are  rich  and 
influential." 

But  why  need  he  bend  down  like  that,  peering 
far  under  the  sunshade, — and  beam  as  though  it 
concealed  all  delight? 

With  a  fresh  start  of  alarm,  the  girl  knew  they 
were  turning  her  way.  How  could  she  face  Mildred 
in  so  shabby  and  bedraggled  a  condition!  The 
one  clear  and  passionate  thought  Sophie  was  able 
to  harbour  was  a  means  of  escape  from  the  two 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  ROSE  147 

blithe  creatures  slowly  advancing.  She  stepped 
into  the  street,  and  was  crossing  obliquely,  when 
the  parasol  swung  well  aside,  and  Mildred,  pink, 
radiant  and  smiling,  perceived  her. 

Sophie  literally  ducked,  in  her  desperate  efforts 
to  avoid  detection.  She  could  hear  Mildred 
whisper  to  Karl,  at  which  he  broke  forth  into  fresh 
merriment.  Of  course  they  were  laughing  at  her, 
at  her  ink-spot,  her  hat  on  one  ear,  her  soiled  shoes 
and  the  dangling  sleeve  of  the  blue-striped  jacket. 

The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard — and  it 
should  be.  Sophie  waited  in  vain  for  a  word — 
some  casual  phrase  to  show  that,  at  least,  they  pre- 
tended not  to  have  noted  her  wretched  confusion. 
But  no  greetings  came. 

"  Nasty  simpering  cat !  "  Sophie  hissed.  "  She 
is  making  him  snub  me.  He  would  never  do  it 
alone  by  himself,  and  she  knows  it  right  well.  I 
won't  forgive  Mildred  for  this — not  ever — ever — 
not  as  long  as  I  live !  " 

If  Sophie  had  left  her  home  storming  impatience, 
she  returned  to  it  a  mute  image  of  woe.  The  jacket, 
in  spite  of  its  brown  stripes  was  not  even  unfolded. 

Muttering  something  by  way  of  an  excuse,  the 
unhappy  girl  crept  to  the  trunk-room,  and  search- 
ing about  until  she  found  a  key  to  its  one  door,  she 
locked  herself  into  its  shelter,  and  refused  to 
emerge. 

After  this,  one  day  followed  another — a  dreary, 
cowled  procession  of  time,  bearing  sinister  gifts, 


148  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

alike  to  Mary  and  her  daughter.  New  mists  of 
reserve  were  constantly  rising,  with  half-revealed 
inhibitions,  twanging  nerves,  quick,  brusque  con- 
tradictions, and  sarcastic  arraignments  that  sprang 
up  like  the  torch  of  a  match  in  the  dark,  to  die  out 
again  as  swiftly. 

The  very  marked  alteration  in  her  mother's  looks 
and  bearing,  became  clearer  to  Sophie  each  moment 
that  the  two  were  together.  What  the  girl  could 
not  guess — for  this  the  older  woman  concealed  as 
her  Spartan  fox  of  personal  torment — was  the  fact 
that  her  mother,  who  seemed  to  young  eyes  so  far 
past  the  green  purlieu  of  romance,  was  devoured 
by  the  same  sort  of  passion  that  was  consuming 
Sophie,  and  was  gnawed  by  one  dull,  reiterant  ques- 
tion, "  Why  does  Chris  stay  away?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 


A  WHOLE  week  had  gone  by,  seven  long  days, 
filled  for  Mary  with  fruitless  and  dolorous 
brooding. 

As  for  Sophie,  her  integral  tragedy  had  two  re- 
sults, one  to  keep  her  at  home,  out  of  possible  sight 
or  of  encounter  with  Karl  Trenham ;  the  second, 
to  fling  her  pell-mell,  with  all  of  youth's  vivid 
abandon,  into  reading  every  novel  she  was  able 
to  borrow  from  Letty,  or  to  abstract  from  her 
Mother's  scanty  hoard. 

"  St.  Elmo's  "  enthralling  pages  felt  the  warmth 
and  the  salt  of  her  tears.  When  "  Jane  Eyre  " 
was  discovered,  she  could  scarcely  sleep  because 
of  the  emotions  aroused.  She  would  lie  half  awake 
and  half  dreaming,  to  live  over  again  in  her  excited 
brain,  that  frantic,  extravagant  glory  of  flame, 
that  had  set  its  mark  on  her  young  being.  Again, 
the  girl  felt  the  frenzy,  the  wild  exultation,  the 
will  to  be  a  part  of  the  bright  fury,  as  she  strained 
out  of  nurse  Tempey's  arms,  demanding  in  her 
childish  treble,  "Tate  me  back  to  de  fire.  It's 
pritty !  Oh,  I  want  to  do  back !  " 

149 


150  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

It  was  on  the  eighth  of  March,  after  a  night  when 
the  wind  seemed  a  sentient  thing  big  with  evil  that 
Sophie  started  off  in  the  storm.  She  was  wrapped 
in  her  shaggy  brown  school-coat,  exactly  the  colour 
of  her  eyes,  and  on  her  head  there  was  stuck  her 
scarlet  Tarn  o'  Shanter. 

The  wind  was  still  high,  though  the  gusts  were 
less  frequent,  as  she  turned  in  at  the  Rectory  wing, 
where  Aunt  Baring  held  her  school. 

An  aged  clock  had  just  given  its  brief  hysterical 
warning,  that  in  one  more  thirty-seconds,  it  would 
begin  to  strike  a  reverberant  "  nine,"  when  the  last 
pupil  hurried  along  the  main  aisle  to  her  desk,  to 
find  Letty  already  seated. 

"  Oh,  $o-phie!  "  the  latter  exclaimed — if  one  can 
exclaim  in  a  whisper,  "  I've  got  something  too 
killing  to  tell  you ! — — " 

The  wall  timepiece  began  its  loud  strokes,  and, 
just  as  it  finished,  Mrs.  Baring  called  out,  "  Young 
ladies — your  school-hours  have  begun." 

"  Shucks !  "  grumbled  Sophie,  well  under  her 
breath,  and  flaunted  her  gingham  skirts  sidewise  to 
denote  her  impatience. 

"  Mean  old  thing, — she  knew  I  was  dying " 

Letty  muttered,  when  the  name  "  Letitia  Gaither !  " 
and  a  sharp,  meaning  rap  on  the  desk  compelled 
scowling  silence. 

The  two  young  things  sat  waiting  their  chance 
for  disclosures,  but  never  had  Aunt  Baring's  eye 
been  quite  so  relentless. 


WHAT  LETTY  WROTE  AT  SCHOOL     151 

Seeing  all  hope  of  whispering  was  over,  Letty 
pushed  up  the  half  of  her  desk,  and  feeling  about 
for  a  pencil  and  a  scrap  of  paper,  began  to  write 
hurriedly. 

"  Letitia  Gaither ! "  the  voice  came  again,  and 
this  time  with  the  ring  of  battle.  "  Kindly  lower 
your  desk  and  sit  upright." 

Sophie  bent  far  over  her  Latin.  The  paper  was 
safe  in  her  hand,  though  until  Aunt  Baring's  sus- 
picions subsided  she  would  not  dare  risk  exposure 
by  reading  the  words. 

By  being  both  cautious  and  sly,  she  finally 
managed  to  get  the  white  scrap  to  the  top  of  the 
desk,  and  then  into  the  pages  of  her  book.  She 
knew  that  Letty  was  watching  her  over  the  back 
of  a  battered  Geometry,  her  eyes  a-glitter  with 
laughter. 

Sophie  read,  "  I'll  simply  explode  if  I  don't 
manage  to  tell  you.  It's  about  Cousin  Karl  and 
old  Mildred.  He  kissed  her  last  night.  I'm  sure 
they're  in  love,  and  maybe  they  were  getting  en- 
gaged. I  am  sure  Milly's  in  love — for  I  heard  her 
say " 

Suddenly  laying  her  flat  palm  on  the  burning 
words,  Sophie  sat  staring  down  at  the  back  of  the 
hand  which  concealed  them.  Her  first  definite 
thought  was,  that  she  had  misread  Letty's  note — it 
was  all  an  impish  mistake,  no  such  words  had  been 
•written.  She  could  hear  her  companion  struggling 
to  hold  back  her  mirth. 


152  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

A  few  weeks  earlier,  she  would  surely  have  joined 
in  Letty's  giggles,  and  thought  it  an  excellent  joke. 
What  had  wrought  so  great  a  difference? 

The  schoolroom  hummed  round  her  ears  like  a 
hive  of  inconsequent  bees,  filling  cells,  not  with 
honey,  but  kisses.  The  word  caught  and  clung  as 
a  gossamer  veil  among  brambles.  From  her  past 
hours  of  gorging  on  novels,  every  aspect  of  kissing, 
— rapturous,  despairing,  forbidden,  renouncing, — 
the  kiss  long  and  tender,  and,  most  of  all,  that 
queer  nightmare,  kissing  in  fiction,  where  hot  lips 
meet  and  cling,  as  if  never  again  to  be  parted; 
each  and  every  variety  of  the  embrace,  was  re-read 
and  re-lived  in  her  over-stressed  brain,  and  each 
vision  enhanced  her  excitement. 

A  last  sweep  of  storm  tried  the  windows.  They 
rattled  and  strained  to  the  potent,  invisible  force. 
Sophie  put  one  hand  up  to  her  throat,  terrified  by 
the  thought  that  she  might  swoon.  The  other  she 
managed  to  lift  well  up  over  her  head. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Sophie?  "  her  teacher  inquired 
rather  tartly. 

"  May — may  I  come  and  tell  you?  I  can't  speak 
it  loud,"  said  the  girl  in  a  tone  that  made  Aunt 
Baring  push  up  her  glasses,  and  look  down  at  her 
pupil  with  something  resembling  alarm. 

"  WThy,  of  course.  What's  the  matter?  You  have 
grown  very  pale,"  she  remarked,  as  Sophie  achieved 
the  high  rostrum. 

"  I'm  not  well.     I  must  get  to  the  air,  Auntie 


WHAT  LETTY  WROTE  AT  SCHOOL     153 

Baring.     I'm  afraid  if  I  stay  in  this  room,  I  am 
going  to  faint." 

"  I'll  excuse  you  at  once,  my  dear  child.  What  on 
earth  could  have  caused  the  attack?  The  room  is 
well  ventilated.  If  you  are  feeling  so  ill,  I  think 
I  should  send  one  of  the  other  girls  with  you." 

"  Oh,  no, — no"  Sophie  pleaded.  "  I  want  to  be 
to  myself.  Please  don't  make  any  one  go.  I'll  be 
all  right  just  the  minute  I  get  outside  in  the  wind." 

Mrs.  Baring  did  not  seem  convinced,  but  giving 
her  no  time  for  further  objections,  Sophie  ran  to 
her  desk. 

At  Letty's  excited  inquiry,  beginning,  "  What  on 

earth "    The  other  flared  back,  "  Oh,  you  hush. 

It's  all  right.    I  know  what  I'm  doing ! " 

Letty  looked  greatly  hurt,  at  which,  on  the  in- 
stant, Sophie  felt  deep  contrition.  A  lump  rose  in 
her  throat.  Her  terror  of  fainting  was  over,  but 
what  she  feared  now,  was  bursting  into  sobs  before 
she  could  get  to  the  street.  She  dared  not  speak 
kindly  to  her  comrade,  knowing  well  that  the  tem- 
pest would  break — so  assuring  herself  that  she. 
would  make  it  all  up  with  her  best  friend  on  the 
morrow,  she  fled  through  the  door  into  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SOPHIE    WALKS    THE    FENCE 

SOPHIE'S  brief  flight  from  the  schoolroom 
door  was  successfully  accomplished.  Yet  upon 
the  outer  steps,  distended  sobs  were  still  in 
the  slender  throat. 

A  few  quick,  shuddering  breaths  escaped,  and 
these,  snatched  from  her  lips  by  an  elfish  current, 
changed  to  torn  bits  of  sound. 

Freedom  confronted  her — wide,  longed-for  free- 
dom— with  limitless  horizons  and  a  vast  dome  of 
blue. 

The  suburbs  were  soon  gained.  Here  for  the 
most  part  clustered  negro  dwellings,  each  set  on 
mother  earth  in  angles  all  its  own,  but  beyond 
these  shanties  Sophie  fared  on  a  path  which  led 
— though  she  had  taken  it  unconsciously — out  over 
the  nearest  hill  and  straight  down  to  the  river's 
edge,  and  the  Gaither  shot  tower  works. 

Once  on  the  slope,  the  wayfarer  swung  along 
rapidly  and,  in  a  few  moments  more,  discovered  her- 
self within  a  sunken  road  between  high  banks,  the 
upper,  incurving  edges,  fringed  with  aerial  roots. 

The  wind  had  left  the  lower  plane,  but  over- 
head among  the  pines,  and  the  bare  branches  of 

154 


SOPHIE  WALKS  THE  FENCE         155 

deciduous  trees,  it  roared  with  a  curiously  distant 
sound. 

Sophie  threw  back  her  head  and  stared  at  the 
frenzied  torment  of  the  lashed  boughs.  She  felt 
it  a  part  of  her  own  miserable  excitement. 

But  why?  What  business,  after  all,  was  it  of 
hers  if  a  young  man,  Karl  Trenham,  kissed  Mildred 
Gaither? 

"  I'm  out  of  my  senses ;  I  must  be  going  crazy. 
That's  what's  the  matter!"  she  cried  aloud. 
"  What  is  it  to  me,  and  what  can  I  do  about  it,  even 
if  he  does  love  Mildred?  Me!  I'm  nothing  but  a 
schoolgirl,  with  my  fool  hair  all  hanging  down  my 
back ! " 

She  jerked  the  crimson  Tarn  o'  Shanter  quite 
away,  and  flung  defiantly,  in  the  wind's  peering 
face,  those  hated  masses  of  bronze  curls. 

A  few  dead  leaves  from  last  year  scuttled  side- 
wise  along  the  road.  "  Kiss — kiss — kiss,"  each  one 
whispered  in  its  fantastic  flight. 

"  If  only,"  Sophie  lamented,  "  I  had  never  read 
those  novels!  If  only  he  had  not  walked  home 
with  me  that  day !  I  won't  think !  I  won't  picture 
wThat  it  means !  "  she  added  fiercely,  and  with  these 
impassioned  words,  fled  up  the  hill,  as  if  demons 
were  pursuing — and  they  were. 

Without  another  pause,  she  reached  the  edge  of 
a  little  clearing,  one  of  those  lonely,  odd  patches  of 
mountain  corn,  enclosed  in  a  zigzag  fence;  but 
otherwise  seeming  to  bear  no  relation  to  humanity. 


156  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

She  stared  across  it,  thinking  that  the  place 
looked  like  a  shrivelled  scar.  The  ground  was 
rough  with  spikes  of  last  autumn's  stubble,  but  the 
old  fence  was  softened,  in  its  whole  length,  by  the 
clustered,  ghostly  similitude  of  summer's  lush, 
various  growths:  iron-weed,  its  summits  touched 
with  purple;  diaphanous,  silvery  plumes  of  golden- 
rod,  sumac,  and  down  among  the  stems,  bracken, 
and  wiry  billows  of  dry  grass. 

Sophie  moved  slowly  forward,  knee-deep  in 
crackling  ferns.  "  I'm  going  to  walk  this  fence 
rail,"  she  declared.  "  I  haven't  tried  for  ages, 
and  here  there  is  nobody  to  see  me  if  I  fall  off. 
I  wonder  if  I  can?  " 

She  sprang  up,  holding  by  one  of  the  spraddling, 
x-shaped  uprights  which,  planted  in  the  earth, 
crossed  at  each  jointing  of  the  level  rails. 

Once  mounted,  she  began  to  measure  the  space 
to  the  next  upright  cross-piece  with  a  wary  eye.  It 
seemed  to  be  drawing  outward,  like  a  rubber 
band. 

"  Here  goes,  and  whatever  happens,  at  least  it 
will  keep  me  from  thinking !  "  declaimed  the  valiant 
tight-rope  walker,  and  took  one  short  wavering 
step.  She  balanced  carefully,  her  young  arms  out- 
stretched, the  graceful  lines  of  her  body  taut  and 
indrawn  with  effort. 

So  utterly  engrossed  was  the  acrobat  in  her 
venture,  that  she  failed  to  see  a  man  who,  now 
emerging  from  the  wood  at  the  far  end  of  the  stub- 


SOPHIE  WALKS  THE  FENCE         157 

ble-patch,  stopped  short,  drew  back,  pursed  his  red 
lips  for  a  whistle  of  inaudible  delight — theit 
deliberately  crouched  deep  among  the  bracken. 

Her  first  lap  passed,  the  rail- walker  grew  more 
courageous.  Three  lengths  had  been  traversed — 
then  the  fourth — finally  the  fifth.  Karl  crouched 
still. lower,  though  his  head  was  lifted.  The  girl's 
ankles  were  quite  perfect. 

She  was  skimming  toward  him  light  as  a  swal- 
low. The  round  cheeks  beneath  the  red  cap  were 
vivid.  What  a  glowing,  bird-like,  exquisitely  un- 
fettered creature  she  appeared,  her  wings  wide- 
spread, her  face  grave  yet  triumphant — all  igno- 
rant of  snares  and  lurking  fowlers.  What  a  joke 
it  would  be  to  frighten  and  then  to  catch  her! 
How  the  bronze-brown  eyes  would  blaze ! 

Trenham  bided  his  time  to  the  second.  Sophie 
was  just  within  an  inch  of  closing  her  hand  on  the 
last  upright  prong,  when  he  sprang  out  from  cover. 
"  Booh !  "  he  cried  sharply,  as  if  to  a  little  child. 

She  gave  a  low  scream,  toppled,  balanced,  and 
then  plunged  toward  the  road  and  into  Karl's  out- 
stretched arms. 

For  a  few  heart-beats  Sophie  lay  on  the  man's 
breast.  He  was  silent — then  he  began  to  laugh. 

The  girl  drew  back,  sent  one  incredulous,  black 
look  to  his  merry  face,  and  instantly  attempted  to 
escape.  He  held  her  close. 

"  You  let  me  go,  Mr.  Trenham !  You  let  me  go 
this  minute ! " 


158  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  laughed  the  other.  "  Why, 
I've  only  just  now  caught  you." 

"  You  mustn't  keep  me  this — this — way,"  she 
protested,  her  clear  voice  rising  to  an  angry  wail. 
"  You  know  it's  wrong.  Undo  your  arms.  I'd 

rather, — rather "  she  cried  shrilly,  a  phrase 

from  a  recent  novel  flitting  aptly  to  her  brain, 
"  have  the  coils  of  a  serpent  about  me." 

"  Oh,  you  would — would  you !  "  mocked  the  still 
grinning  Karl.  "  That's  a  nice  little  bokay  for  me ! 
I'll  tell  you  now,  young  lady,  you've  got  to  talk 
prettier  than  this  to  get  away." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  raged  Sophie,  "  if  I  were  a  man — 
I'd  kill  you  where  you  stand !  " 

"  Oh,  oh,"  derided  her  companion.  "  And  if  you 
were  a  man,  do  you  think  I'd  want  to  hold  you — 
or  be  getting  ready  for  a  kiss — as  I'm  now  doing?  " 

"  If — if  you  do  that — what  you  just  said,"  the 
frenzied  prisoner  panted,  "  I'm  going  to  try  to 
kill  you,  even  though  I'm  only  a  girl.  I've  got 
no  father  and  no  brother,  so  I'll  defend  myself." 

Karl  suddenly  released  her.  "  Good  Lord !  I 
thought  you  knew  I  meant  it  all  in  fun,"  he  said 
contritely.  "  Why,  you  queer  kid,  you  pretty  spit- 
fire you.  I  honestly  believe,"  he  paused  to  stare 
into  her  wrathful  face,  "  you  meant  that  threat  in 
earnest ! " 

She  sent  him  a  storm-swept  glance,  and  then 
began  to  retreat,  step  by  step,  until  she  felt  the  old 
fence  at  her  back. 


SOPHIE  WALKS  THE  FENCE         159 

Trenham,  on  the  contrary,  standing  where  he 
was,  drew  out  a  cigarette  case,  conspicuously  new. 
It  had  been  given  him  a  few  weeks  before,  on  his 
twenty-sixth  birthday,  by  his  cousin  Mildred — and 
so  memorially  inscribed. 

Sophie's  wide,  brilliant  eyes  watched  every  ges- 
ture. With  his  feet  well  apart,  and  his  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  the  case  was  now  clicked  open. 
The  man  carefully  selected  one  white  tube,  thrust 
the  square  gleam  of  silver  to  an  inner  pocket,  and 
began  to  feel  for  a  match. 

As  he  found  one,  the  rough  wind,  which,  for  a 
long  while  had  been  dormant,  hurried  excitedly 
toward  him.  This  meant  skill  in  lighting. 

Sophie,  with  the  same  tense  gaze,  watched  his 
hands,  brown  but  smooth  as  those  of  a  woman, 
the  round  closing  of  scarlet-red  lips  where  the 
cigarette  was  met,  and  the  muscles  on  satiny  cheek 
and  chin  as  he  drew  swift  breaths  to  coax  the  wan 
flame  he  shielded.  To  her  lovesick  and  inexperi- 
enced eyes  the  process  was  singularly  masculine, 
deft  and  altogether  thrilling. 

That  short,  quick  pressure  to  his  heart,  her  agony 
of  fear  mingled  with  blazing  rapture  at  the  threat- 
ened kiss,  her  anguish  when  she  realized  that  he 
was  laughing,  all  of  these  emotions  had  thrown 
Sophie's  secret  bare  to  her  own  blinded  inner 
vision.  She  knew  now  that  she  loved  this  man — 
loved  one  who  was,  perhaps,  Mildred  Gaither's 
lover. 


160  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Of  course  to  him  she  could  only  be,  as  yet,  a 
silly  child.  Nor  had  she  hope  that  one  so  desirable 
as  Karl  would  wait  for  her  growing  up. 

Extreme  youth  plunges  swiftly  to  its  full  measure 
of  despair.  It  revels  wretchedly  in  its  condition 
of  abandonment  to  woe.  Thus  it  became  with 
Sophie.  After  the  flash  of  revelation,  showing  her 
bound  for  life  in  ties  of  hapless  love  to  the  un- 
conscious Karl,  she  accepted  almost  eagerly  an 
existence  foredoomed  to  lonely  disappointment, 
and  the  thought  brought  a  dark  sort  of  calm — 

When  Trenham  looked  out  from  the  haze  of  a 
long,  satisfying  exhalation  of  blue  smoke,  and 
chaffingly  remarked,  "  How  does  it  come  about, 
young  miss,  that  you  are  at  large  on  a  schoolday?  " 
she  was  able  to  give  the  instantaneous  reply,  "  And 
how  does  it  chance,  old  sir,  that  your  nose  is  not 
as  usual  in  your  office  desk?  " 

Karl  laughed  appreciatively.  "  That's  one  into 
me,  but  so  neatly  thrust  I  don't  begrudge  it. 
Honestly  though,  Sophie — or  shall  it  be  Miss  Hal- 
lonquist? — I  am  curious  to  know  why  you  are 
not  at  school." 

Before  the  uncomfortable  memories  this  simple 
question  raised,  the  girl's  whole  aspect  altered. 

"  I — it — was  nothing,"  she  faltered,  her  head 
hung  down.  "  Only  I  wasn't  well.  I  nearly 
fainted,  and  then  Auntie  Baring  let  me  come  out 
to  the  air." 

"  That's  queer.     I  wonder  a  little  that  your 


SOPHIE  WALKS  THE  FENCE         161 

mother  sent  you  to  school  when  you  were  feeling 
sick." 

"  She  didn't !  "  Sophie  flared,  for,  notwithstand- 
ing her  own  filial  shortcomings,  she  was  always 
swift  to  defend  her  absent  mother.  "  I  was  as  well 
as  you  are  standing  there  this  minute,  until  I  got 
to  Auntie  Baring's  and  Letty  wrote  something " 

The  impetuous  flow  of  words  had  carried  her 
too  far.  She  stopped  on  a  little  gasp.  Horror  was 
added  to  an  expression  already  disconcerted. 

Throwing  away  his  cigarette,  the  smoker  caught 
at  the  latent  suggestion  of  intrigue. 

"  Letty  wrote  something — something  that  had 
the  power  to  make  you  ill  at  once?  "  he  asked,  or 
rather  mentioned  to  himself,  for  his  words  were 
deliberate  and  thoughtful. 

Sophie's  skirts  lashed  the  air  in  a  torment. 
"  Don't  try  to  think  it !  "  she  flew  out  at  him.  "  I 
won't  let  you  think." 

"  How  can  you  help  it?  "  he  demanded.  Then 
as  there  was  not,  nor  could  be,  any  answer,  he 
stepped  a  little  closer  and  inquired,  "  Was  it  about 
me  she  wrote?  " 

"  I'm  going !  I  won't  stay  here  to  be  tortured 
another  minute  more ! "  she  cried  in  sharp  de- 
cisiveness. 

As  she  rushed  past  him,  Trenham  caught  a 
brown-clad  arm.  He  wheeled  her  about,  a  trifle 
roughly,  and  stared  down  into  the  quivering  face, 
as  though  he  had  never  looked  on  it  before. 


162  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Tell  me  at  once  what  it  was  Letty  wrote  you." 
"  Nothing  can  make  me !  "   said  the  shivering 

Sophie. 
"  Am  I  to  tell  you,  then?  "  he  asked  in  a  gripping 

voice. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHIRLPOOLS 

BEFORE  that  terrifying  question,  "Shall  I 
tell  you,  then? "  Sophie  paled.  She  made 
toward  speech,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 
Her  whole  face  was  a  fluctuant  tide  of  emotion. 
The  sight  of  her  virgin  distress  made  Karl  bolder. 

"  Well,  here  goes.  The  ridiculous  thing  Letty 
wrote,  and  which  has  upset  you,  was  about  *  yours 
truly,  Karl  Gaither  Trenham.'  Very  much  at  your 
service,"  and  he  bowed  exaggeratedly. 

"  You  are  joking  again.  Oh,  how  I  wish — how 
I  do  wish  I  was  dead ! "  In  speaking  she  had 
backed  far  away,  and  now  hurled  herself  down  at 
full  length  into  the  dry  autumn  growth  by  the 
roadside. 

The  man's  gaze  dwelt  on  the  slight,  shaken  figure. 
He  noted  the  immature  yet  graceful  curves  of  her 
young  body.  "  Pshaw !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  she 
is  an  innocent  baby.  But  she  certainly  grips  a 
chap  hard.  Besides,"  he  thought,  frowning,  "  her 
people  are  poor  as  church-mice,  and  I  came  up  here 
to  get  on.  Nothing  doing !  " 

The  wind,  all  at  once,  seemed  to  wake  to  his 
craven  reflections.  It  slapped  his  cheeks  hard,  then 

163 


164  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

leaned  back  among  the  mammoth  tree-cushions,  a 
very  Falstaff  of  early  March  gales. 

Karl  held  his  felt  hat  in  its  place,  and  was  about 
to  turn  toward  the  town,  when  he  fancied  a  cry 
rose  from  the  bracken.  With  a  shrug  of  reluctance 
he  strode  a  few  paces  nearer.  Sophie's  red  cap  had 
caught  on  a  briar,  and  now  dangled  in  air,  like 
a  signal  of  warning. 

Trenham  kicked  it  aside  and  knelt  by  the  mo- 
tionless form. 

"  Look  here,  Sophie,"  he  said  in  a  tone  as  devoid 
of  sentiment  as  that  of  an  auctioneer,  "this  silly 
old  stuff  can't  continue  forever.  You  sit  up  like 
a  nice  child,  and  I'll  take  you  back  into  Dunrobin." 

A  petulant  twitch  was  his  answer. 

Trenham  sighed.  He  was  thinking,  just  then, 
what  the  damp  soil  was  going  to  do  to  the  knees  of 
his  trousers. 

As  she  failed  to  give  further,  he  urged  rather 
wearily,  "  Oh,  come  now — I've  had  quite  enough. 
You  don't  have  to  keep  lying  there  like  a  fence- 
post.  Anyhow,  your  stockings  are  showing " 

This  stung  the  prone  figure  to  action.  She 
turned  and  sat  up  in  a  single  lithe  movement,  and 
furiously  pushed  at  her  dress  skirt  to  make  it 
conceal  her  long  legs. 

"You're  indecent!"  she  flared.  "You're  a  pig 
— and  simply  disgusting !  " 

"  Fine !  Keep  it  up !  You  pitch  into  Big  Brother 
Karl  just  as  hard  as  you've  a  mind  to.  He  don't 


WHIKLPOOLS  165 

care,  not  a  wiggle.  His  shoulders  are  broad,  and 
anything  that  will  drag  you  out  of  this  ditch  where 
you're  wallowing." 

With  the  words  he  stood  up,  and  ignoring  her 
fierce  "  I'm  not  wallowing  at  all,"  stretched 
eager  hands — "  Yupp-tee-doo— -one — two— three; 
and  now  on  your  feet  like  a  lady !  That's  all  right. 
Now  stand  still,  and  Big  Brother  will  put  on  your 
cap." 

The  bronze  curls  were  bent  in  ironic  meekness, 
at  which  Karl  essayed  the  return  of  the  Tarn  into 
place — a  process  resembling  the  fitting  of  a  white 
leathern  top  to  the  stopper  of  a  perfume  bottle. 

"That's  fine  as  far  as  it  goes,"  he  declared  with 
a  beaming  and  elderly  smile.  But  you  got  your 
face  dirty  while  wal — er — beg  your  pardon — re- 
clining there  on  the  ground.  Stand  still  a  minute 
till  I  get  the  worst  off  on  my  hanky." 

He  drew  forth  that  spotless  white  object,  and, 
with  lips  slightly  pursed,  in  the  manner  of  aged 
tailors  when  threading  their  needles,  set  to  work 
on  his  self-imposed  task. 

Sophie's  left  cheek  alone  had  been  sullied.  There 
were  small  discolourations  where  a  twig  or  torn 
scrap  of  a  leaf  had  pressed  into  the  flower-like 
texture,  while,  meandering  down  through  the 
stains,  ran  small  brooklets  of  still  glistening  tears. 

Now  it  chanced  that  this  schoolgirl's  left  eye  was, 
if  anything,  just  a  thought  larger  and  deeper  and 
more  brimmed  with  romance  and  mischief,  than 


166  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

had  ever  been  its  brown  mate,  and,  also,  near  the 
left  of  the  lovely  curved  lips,  was  the  smallest 
and  roundest  of  dimples.  As  Karl  soberly  plied 
his  new  trade,  the  treacherous  dimple  kept  sinking, 
then  rising  again  to  the  surface,  like  a  rose  in  a 
hurrying  stream. 

"  At  last !  "  the  odd  nurse-maid  exclaimed,  step- 
ping back  to  appraise  the  performance.  "  I  be- 
lieve I've  scraped  most  of  the  real  estate  off.  Now 
we'll  trot  down  home  to  the  city." 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  breathed  Sophie  with 
honeyed  composure.  "  It's  been  ages  since  any 
one  washed  my  face  for  me  like  that.  Perhaps 
some  day,"  she  glinted,  "  I'll  be  able  to  do  the  same 
for  you." 

"  Don't  bother,"  said  her  companion,  with  such 
swiftness  that  she  knew  her  arrow  had  struck. 
Indeed,  it  had  rankled,  for  after  a  short,  scowling 
pause  he  flung  out,  "  You  young  minx !  The  fact 
is  you  never  should  have  been  turned  loose  from 
the  nursery.  A  great  girl  like  you,  who  can  still 
be  a  silly  cry-baby !  " 

He  had  her  with  this,  but  she  refused  to  give  in. 

"  So  you  think  that  I  act  like  a  baby?  "  she  ques- 
tioned, then  deliberately  stood  and  let  scorn  fill 
her  sails.  "  Well,  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr. 
Karl — Gaither — Trenham,  nobody  ever  can  make 
me  cry — but — you !  " 

"  None  but  me !    I  am  highly  honoured." 

"  No,  you're  not,  you  are  sneering,"  said  Solphie. 


WHIRLPOOLS  167 

"  All  the  same  it's  the  truth.  Why,  you  can't  even 
pass  me  by  on  the  street  without  a  smile  and  a 
look  that  goads  me!  And  today,  with  those  big- 
brother  airs " 

The  flurry  of  anger  was  sped,  and  he  saw  that 
the  red  mouth  was  shaking. 

"  Well,  we've  spent  breath  enough  on  this  jawing. 
Let's  go  home,  kid,"  said  Karl,  and  reached  for 
the  brown  elbow  nearest.  For  an  instant  her 
shoulder  had  swayed  and  rested  against  him.  She 
twitched  it  a  fraction  higher  along  his  rough  coat 
sleeve,  and  cried,  "  I  am  nearly  as  tall  as  you. 
Look  where  my  shoulder  is  reaching?  " 

"  Oh,  I  say  now,"  the  young  man  threw  down 
from  his  superior  height.  "  I  could  eat  my  soup 
flat  off  of  your  head.  And,  besides,  you  are  stand- 
ing on  your  tiptoes.  Naughty!  Naughty!  That's 
no  fair,  a-cheatin' !  " 

"  Maybe  I  am  on  my  toes,"  she  admitted ;  "  but 
you  can't  say  I'm  not  a  whole  half-a-head  taller 
than  your  dear,  darling  Mildred !  " 

Trenham  stared.  "  Than  my  dear,  darling  Mil- 
dred," he  echoed,  as  one  who  is  doubting  his  ears. 
"  Look-a-here,  what  has  Mildred  to  do  with  these 
fits  you've  been  throwing?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing !  "  she  hurriedly  disclaimed, 
then  cancelled  denial  by  adding  with  vicious  in- 
tensity, the  four  words,  "  How  I  hat e  her !  " 

"  My  good  Lord !  "  Karl  murmured,  his  eyes  nar- 
rowing. "  There's  more  here  than  appears  on  the 


168  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

surface.  Why  on  earth,  you  queer  child,  should 
you  hate  my  gentle,  kind  cousin?  " 

"  You  kissed  her,"  said  Sophie.  "  You  kissed 
her !  "  The  words  had  shot  forth  before  the  girl 
realized  the  full  force  of  all  they  admitted.  When 
she  did,  as  if  in  hopeless  surrender  she  muttered, 
"  That  was  what  Letty  wrote  me  at  school." 

Trenham's  lips  gave  one  dry,  humorous  twist 
and  were  instantly  steadied.  "  And  what's  it  to 
you,  may  I  ask,  if  I  kiss  my  own  cousin?  " 

Sophie  swallowed  a  lump  in  her  throat.  "  But 
it  wasn't  because  she's  your  cousin.  You're  in  love 
with  each  other — Letty  said  so.  She  says  Mildred 
is  crazy  about  you,"  the  wretched  young  voice 
stumbled  on.  "  Cousin  James  is  your  cousin,  and 
a  step  nearer,  but  I  don't  know  that  you  ever 
kissed  him!" 

"  Not  exactly,"  Karl  laughed.  "  I'd  as  soon  kiss 
the  back  of  a  Quackenbos  Grammar.  But  you 
listen  to  me,"  he  pursued,  his  bright  aquamarine 
eyes  full  upon  her.  "Would  you  have  carried  on 
in  this  curious  way  if  it  had  been  the  Quackenbos 
Grammar?  " 

"  Of  course  not !  How  silly !  "  she  cried,  and 
then  stopped  on  a  horrified  gasp  at  this  further 
betrayal. 

The  man's  gaze  fell  away.  "  Steady  there,  you 
Karl  Trenham,"  he  warned  himself  mentally.  "  You 
can't  get  tied  up  to  a  child." 

Together  they  paced  on  in  silence.     From  the 


WHIRLPOOLS 

tense  figure  close  by  his  side  there  seemed  actual 
power  emitted — a  vibration  of  quivering  life  that 
made  even  the  sweep  of  the  wind  like  a  dream. 

As  the  troublesome  quiet  continued,  Trenham 
ventured  a  partial  look  round.  Sophie's  upturned 
gaze  was  following  white  clouds,  and,  reassured,  he 
began  to  study  her  face. 

There  was  something  arresting  about  her,  no  get- 
ting away  from  that  fact.  Other  girls  had  a  sheen 
on  their  hair  like  the  wings  of  bronze  turkeys  in 
sunshine,  and  the  bloom  of  white  grapes  on  their 
skin.  But  where  else  could  he  find  the  wide 
thoughtful  spacing  of  brows,  the  revealing  expres- 
sion, the  radium  glow  of  intelligence? 

"  By  George,  if  the  filly  were  nineteen  or  twenty, 

instead  of  the  kid  she  is "  Karl  thought,  then 

fired  the  query,  "  How  old  are  you,  Sophie?  " 

"  I'll  be  seventeen  next  March,"  she  told  him,  and 
added  demurely,  "  My  grandmother  Baring  was 
married  when  she  was  sixteen." 

"  This  is  March,"  he  smiled,  "  which  means  that 
you've  just  reached  the  date  of  your  grandmother's 
marriage." 

"  Yes,  but  I  liked  the  sound  of  it  better  that 
other  way,"  Sophie  purled  in  the  humblest  of 
voices. 

"Why?"  Trenham  demanded  on  the  impulse, 
then  seeing  her  dimple,  backed  off.  "  Never  mind, 

I — I — didn't  mean  it.  You  needn't  tell  me " 

he  stammered. 


170  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Alas  for  the  self-seeking  worldling,  and  all  of 
his  crude  inhibitions.  As  if  she  had  fathomed  his 
thoughts  Sophie  stood,  for  an  instant,  quite  still, 
and  then,  with  a  certain  slow  meaning,  raised  her 
dark,  freighted  eyes  to  his.  In  hers  the  young 
man  saw  pleading,  intense  adoration,  and  a  pink 
flaming  face  in  which,  Narcissus-like,  he  gazed  at 
his  own. 

He  tried  to  fall  back,  but  she  held  him ;  for  these 
were  the  eyes  of  a  worshipping  woman. 

All  of  the  artless  abandon  was  gone.  Her  hour 
was  upon  her.  Slowly — slowly — with  eyes  wildly 
staring,  Trenham  felt  himself  being  drawn  down 
into  two  splendid  whirlpools  of  love.  Many  a 
swimmer  much  stronger  than  Karl — more  worldly 
and  older — might  well  have  been  lured  and  en- 
gulfed. 

He  drew  in  one  swift,  sobbing  breath,  like  that 
of  an  animal  trapped,  and  flung  out  an  arm  as 
though  to  balance  himself  at  the  edge  of  a  just 
disclosed  chasm. 

Sophie  caught  the  blind  hand.  At  her  touch, 
his  look  leapt  into  fire.  In  mute  answer  she  bent 
the  bright  head  as  a  slave  to  her  master,  but  her 
lips — cold,  and  shaken  with  passion — found  and 
clung  to  the  hand. 

"  Sophie !  Sophie! "  he  groaned.  "  Don't  do  that ! 
rA  fellow  can't  stand  it — you  know.  You — you — 
mustn't!" 

As  by  magic  the  tables  were  turned. 


WHIRLPOOLS  171 

"What  mustn't  I  do — Karl?"  The  question 
swelled  out  from  the  throat  of  a  thrush  in  the 
springtime. 

"  Th — th — that! ''  the  ecstatic,  unhappy  man 
stammered,  while  making  the  feeblest  of  efforts  to 
wrench  his  hand  out  of  her  own. 

"You  are  only  a  schoolgirl.  I  oughtn't!"  he 
beat  on  the  door  of  discretion.  "  Oh,  my  Lord ! " 
he  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  beseeching,  "  what  in 
hell  can  a  poor  fellow  do  when  you  love  him  like 
that!" 

"  There's  a  lot  a  poor  fellow  can  do,"  the  laugh- 
ing thrush  fluted.  "  And  one  thing  the  best — I 
couldn't  well  mention." 

Karl  threw  caution  to  the  winds.  He  dived  head- 
long in  brilliant  abandon,  and  fell  in  the  perfume 
of  roses. 

"  Is  it  this?  "  he  whispered,  holding  her  close. 
"  This?  You  rapturous  darling !  You  have  gone  to 
my  head  like  strong  wine.  I  am  mad — frenzied — 
drunken  about  you.  Keep  still,  my  own  love.  My 
pretty  sweet  baby,  my  wife  to  be.  Karl  is  going  to 
set  this  first  kiss  of  your  life  on  those  red  hungry 
lips  that  are  waiting,  you  sweet,  unplucked  flower 
— you  angel " 

Four  lips  caught  and  crushed  the  hysterical 
phrases,  sunk  to  murmurous  sobbing  of  rapture — 
and  then  into  an  exquisite  void. 

When  that  long  kiss  was  over,  the  girl  sagged  in 
his  arms.  "  I — I — can't  breathe,"  she  got  out,  then, 


172  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

as  if  to  his  shiver  of  bliss,  "  I  believe  I  am  dead 
and  in  heaven." 

Sophie  looked  up.  The  clouds  had  gone,  the 
wind  was  driving,  and  the  whole  sky  was  blue  as 
Karl's  eyes,  when  the  lovers  at  last  started  down 
the  long  road  to  the  village. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND 

THE  effect  of  the  news  upon  Miss  Ossie  was 
the  stripping  off,  in  a  single  passionate  ges- 
ture, of  long  years  of  acquired  self-command. 
A  new  Aunt  Ossie  appeared — one  strange  and 
terrible  to  Mildred — a  being  of  wild  mountain 
speech,  clad  in  raw  primitive  hues  of  sheer  frenzy. 

"  The  low-lived  young  skunk.  The  cheap  trifler, 
— and  he  caught  by  a  hussy  like  that !  To  leave  you 
in  the  lurch,  and  make  you  the  laugh  of  the  vil- 
lage ! "  she  screamed  out,  beating  thin  arms  in  the 
air,  and  clutching  her  fingers  as  though  grasping 
the  head  of  the  culprit. 

"  James  Gaither  shall  even  him  up  for  this  dev'l- 
mint !  "  she  stormed.  "  We  won't  stand  it  nohow 
— Milly-girl.  And  if  James  won't — him  being  so 
peaked  and  slow-moving — I'll  goard  Christopher 
Laird  into  gunning  him." 

It  was  Mildred  who  told  her — a  white,  shaken 
Mildred  who  had  just  a  few  moments  before  been 
whispered  the  great  secret  by  a  giggling  Letty. 

"  Yes,  Sophie  and  Cousin  Karl  are  engaged," 
Letty  confided.  "  Mrs.  Hallonquist  don't  want  it 
to  get  out  yet ;  she  says  Sophie's  too  young,  and  it 

173 


174  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

is  all  ridiculous.  She  took  on  at  first  something 
terrible — Sophie  says — and  she  may  send  Sophie 
to  school  somewhere  off  from  Dunrobin,  in  hopes 
she  will  get  over  it." 

As  this  outburst  was  met  by  silence,  Letty  added, 
"  Miss  Mary  doesn't  know  Sophie  if  she  thinks  that. 
But  isn't  it  awfully  romantic  and  exciting?  " 

In  the  presence  of  her  young  sister,  Mildred  had 
been  able  to  restrain  all  signs  of  emotion.  Her 
reserve,  unlike  that  of  her  mountain-bred  aunt,  was 
a  thing  not  of  veneer  but  of  fibre.  But  the  elder 
girl,  left  alone  in  the  hallway  downstairs,  where 
she  had  encountered  Letty,  put  both  hands  to  her 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  leaned  rather  heavily 
against  the  wall.  Then  feeling  her  way  upward, 
step  by  step,  her  hand  on  the  old  polished  balus- 
trade, she  crept  to  the  shelter  of  Auntie. 

There  was  here  no  need  for  repression  or  con- 
cealment. Mildred's  heart  lay  as  bare  to  those 
famished  old  love-eyes  of  Ossie  as  a  shallow  white 
rose  to  the  sun.  They  had  whispered,  planned, 
hoped  and  talked  together,  and  the  hero  of  all  of 
their  bright  dreams  of  Mildred's  future  life  had 
been  Karl. 

The  dreadful  news  was  simply  and  quietly  told. 
Ossie  could  not  believe  it  at  first.  She  stared  hard 
at  her  niece. 

"  It's  a  lie !  It's  a  durned  lie !  You  be  fooling 
me,  Mildred,"  she  said  fiercely,  grasping  the  girl 
by  an  arm. 


"  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND  175 

"  Oh,  Auntie !  If  it  only  was  fooling !  "  cried  the 
other  in  despair,  and  wrenching  herself  free,  flung 
a  shivering,  sobbing  young  form  to  her  Aunt's  wide 
patchwork  quilt  on  the  bed. 

Then  Ossie  went  mad,  and  began  her  torrent  of 
invective. 

"  Please  stop,  Aunt  Ossie.  There's  no  use  saying 
such  terrible  things  of  Karl — or  of  me  either," 
Mildred  protested.  "  I've  told  you  that  Karl  never 
addressed  me — not  by  words — though  I  did  think 
he — cared.  Oh,  I  can't  pretend  even  to  my  own 
heart  that  I  didn't  believe  he  was  going  to.  And  I 
wanted  it  so !  "  she  sobbed  piteously.  "  But  that's 
all  at  an  end.  I  see  now  that  it  was  only  the  love 
of  a  cousin." 

"  Cousin !  Hell-fi-ah  and  brimstone !  "  spat 
Ossie.  "  That  won't  do,  Milly-girl.  I  tell  you  he 
give  you  and  me  every  claim  to  believe  he  was 
courting.  Where's  them  sheeps-eyes  he  throwed 
you — them  soft  looks  and  titters?  And  eternally 
grabbing  your  hand  underneath  the  table?  Only  a 
two-night  a-gone  he  was  trying  to  kiss  you.  I  seen 
him ! " 

Mildred  writhed  in  her  place.  "  Oh,  Auntie,"  she 
moaned,  as  if  those  last  words  were  the  final  and 
quite  unendurable  turn  to  the  wheel  of  her  rack, 
"  don't  say  it !  It's  the  one  thing  I  can't  bear !  I 
had  lost  him  that  kiss  as  a  wager — he  was  only  in 
fun.  It  really  meant  nothing." 

"  Well,  he'll  find  it's  going  to  mean  something." 


176  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

said  Ossie  between  her  set  teeth.  "Don't  you  sob 
so,  poor  darling.  You  just  take  Auntie's  word 
as  how  it  was  plumb  right  and  natural  for  us  to 
hold  him  as  honest, — the  low,  sneaking  sheep-steal- 
ing dawg!  And  to  think  your  own  father  is  made 
him, — is  took  him  in  as  full  partner.  Where'd  the 
coward  skunk  be,  if  it  wasn't  for  his  start  in  the 
tower  works?  But  we'll  stop  all  that.  I'll  make  it 
my  business  to  see  him  kicked  out  of  James's  office 
before  sundown.  You  bide  here,  and  smooth  your- 
self;  Aunt  Ossie  will  see  justice  done." 

The  speaker  had  dashed  for  the  door,  but  as 
she  reached  it  Mildred  sprang  up  in  bed. 

"  No,— no.  Don't  tell  Father!  Don't  tell  Uncle 
Chris!  and  not  Letty.  It's  enough  for  us  two  to 
know.  I  can't  be  humiliated  before  the  whole 
family.  Oh,  Auntie — for  my  sake — please — please ! 
And  then  Father  can't  spare  Karl  from  the  works." 

"  We'll  see  whether  or  no  James  can  spare  him !  " 
shrilled  Ossie,  one  hand  on  the  knob.  "  Your 
Pap's  downstairs  now — and  I  might  as  well  have 
this  thing  over  and  done  with." 

Not  only  James  Gaither  but  Chris  were  seated 
together,  each  smoking,  in  front  of  the  library 
grate. 

As  Ossie  flew  in — an  arrow  sped  straight  from  a 
twanged  bowstring  of  fury,  Chris  instinctively 
threw  up  his  left  elbow  to  ward  off  the  blow ;  while 
James  Gaither,  who  belonged  to  that  type  of  un- 
belligerent  male  which  fears  more  than  anything 


«  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND  177 

else  in  the  world  the  lash  of  a  feminine  tongue, 
merely  sat  very  erect  in  his  chair,  withdrew  his 
cigar,  and  held  it  apart  at  a  tremulous  angle. 

"  James  Gaither,  I  want  you  should  kick  out  that 
scoundrelly  Trenhani — and  do  it  this  evening. 
Don't  wait,"  she  announced  herself  without 
preface. 

"  But  Ossie, — what — what's — the  man  done?  " 
faltered  Gaither,  when  sufficient  breath  had  re- 
turned to  deliver  the  sentence. 

"  He's  played  fast  and  loose  with  your  Mildred. 
That's  what  he's  done!''  declared  the  sister-in- 
law.  "  He's  a  jilt  and  a  trickster.  He  oughter  be 
cowhided  to  an  inch  of  his  no-count  young  life. 
If  Chris  here  was  half  of  a  man,"  Ossie  paused 
to  shed  down  the  scorn  of  her  small  blazing  eyes 
to  her  unperturbed  brother,  "  he'd  seek  the  low 
critter  out  and  beat  all  his  bones  to  a  bran-mash !  " 

"  My  good  God !  "  James  was  muttering  as  if  to 
the  fire,  "  Karl  a  jilt  and  a  scoundrel, — he's  played 
fast  and  loose !  Ossie,  try  to  speak  calmly.  I  must 
know " 

Chris,  with  a  gesture  carefully  hidden  from 
Ossie,  bade  the  father  keep  still.  His  own  quiet 
face  was  now  raised  to  his  sister. 

"  Sit  down,  Sis,"  he  urged  mildly.  "  You  be 
shivering  worse  than  a  sick  dawg.  Sit,  and  tell  us 
about  it,  calm-like,  and  not  gasping." 

"  I  cain't  sit,"  wailed  Ossie.  "  If  you'd  seen 
what  I  saw,  that  poor  Mildred  of  ours  lying  flat 


178  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

OH  my  bed,  and  shaking  the  four  posts  with  crying ! 
— I  can't  stand  it  nohow !  " 

As  the  listeners  made  no  comment,  Ossie's  anger 
rose  to  new  heights.  "  If  you  two  poor-spirited  he- 
critters  won't  go  after  Trenham,  I'll  go  myself. 
I'll  claw  him  with  these  here  ten  fingers — you  see 
me!  I'll  scrape  all  the  hide  offen  his  grin- 
ning pink  face — and  I'll  laugh  when  I'm  doing 
it!" 

"  You  sit,"  pursued  Chris,  as  if  she  had  been 
speaking  gently.  "  Here,  I'll  give  you  a  hunch  just 
back  of  your  knee-jints  to  help  you  onloosen. 
There, — that's  better!"  he  said,  as  the  woman, 
collapsed  by  a  dexterous  blow,  was  forced  to  sit 
down  to  an  armchair. 

She  tried  to  spring  up,  but  Chris  laid  a  large, 
firm  hand  at  the  front  of  her  stays,  and  no  amount 
of  squirming  was  able  to  remove  it. 

"  You  see,  Sister  Ossie,"  said  James,  clearing 
his  throat  and  his  voice,  "  what  you've  been  sug- 
gesting  " 

"Suggesting!  Not  much — I  don't  reckon!" 
flashed  Ossie,  a  fresh  spurt  of  vinegar  that  cut 
down  the  emollient  low  tone.  "  I  said  right 
straight  out,  and  I  now  repeat  it,  that  viper  you've 
warmed  in  your  bosom — what  you  made  a  full 
partner — his  return  for  the  kindness  you've  showed 
him,  is  breaking  your  poor  daughter's  heart." 

Chris  shot  the  father  a  side  glance. 

"  Do  you  mean,   Sis,"  he  inquired,   "that  the 


"SIS"  KICKS  UP  SAND  179 

youngster  done  asked  Milly  to  wed  him,  and  then 
backed  on  the  trail?  " 

Ossie  showed  her  first  hint  of  confusion. 

"  He  ain't  asked  her  in  words,"  she  admitted. 
"  Though  he's  done  it  in  every  other  way.  Mildred 
had  every  right  to  expect  he  was  going  to  address 
her."- 

"  Yes,"  mused  Chris,  leaning  down  to  the  grate 
for  a  coal  to  place  on  his  pipe,  "I've  noted  how 
you  been  aiding  Milly  into  expecting  it." 

Before  a  fresh  scourge  of  hot  words  could  be 
wielded,  James  Gaither  broke  in. 

"  Well,  Ossie,  the  affair  is  unfortunate.  That 
much  I  admit,  but  it  seems  to  me  nothing  worse 
than  a  misunderstanding.  Very  naturally  it 
grieves  me  to  know  that  dear  Mildred's  unhappy, 
yet  she  is  young,  and  has  other  beaux.  She  will 
soon  get  over  it,  and  as  for  my  personal  feelings 
— I  can  tell  you  now  frankly,"  he  paused,  ventur- 
ing towards  his  sister-in-law  the  ghost  of  a  smile, 
"  I  am  more  relieved  at  the  outcome  than  I  can 
well  express." 

To  this  Chris  nodded  a  solemn  approval,  and 
deep  in  his  heart  said,  "  Amen !  " 

"Air  both  of  you  out  of  your  senses?"  asked 
Ossie,  her  basilisk  eyes  turned  now  to  one,  now  to 
the  other  of  the  two  timid  faces.  "  Can't  you  neither 
one  see,  he's  the  likeliest  man  and  the  best  catch  in 
Dunrobin?  And  she's  got  him  fast  enough!  The 
bit's  in  his  jaw.  It's  what  she  and  that  fly-by- 


180  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

night  daughter  is  worked  for!  But  that  don't  help 
Milly.  So  you  ain't  aiming  to  kick  this  scamp  out 
of  your  business — Brother  James?  " 

There  was  no  reply  to  her  query.  A  tense  breath- 
less silence  had  fallen  upon  her  listeners,  at  which 
the  speaker,  refreshing  herself  by  a  shuddering 
sigh,  continued  more  plaintively: 

"  I  wouldn't  be  minding  the  whole  pizen  mess 
quite  so  much,  if  it  warn't  for  the  woman  that's 
got  him.  Oh,  she  knows  her  business — that  white 
sneaking  hypocrite  that  twists  both  you  men  around 
her  finger. 

"  I  sized  her  up  first  thing  I  come  to  Dunrobin. 
I  seen  through  her  plain  as  the  nose  on  my  face. 
No  woman  don't  fool  Ossie  Laird." 

James  sat  very  straight.  "  Of  whom  are  you 
speaking?  Not  of  Mary  Hallonquist? — I'm  certain 
of  this  much  at  least.  Mary  knows !  " 

Miss  Laird  flared  around.  "  What  would  a  full- 
blooded  young  colt  like  Karl  Trenham  be  courting 
a  weazened  old  widow-woman  like  that?  It  is 
Sophie,  that  chit  of  a  schoolgirl  what's  hooked 
him ;  but  you  can  lay  out  for  certain  it  was  Sophie's 
Maw  what  baited  the  hook." 

"  Now,  the  Lord  bless  my  soul !  Little  Sophie !  " 
Gaither  exclaimed.  "  It  is  simply  incredible. 
Why,  the  girl  is  only  a  baby!  She's  younger,  the 
best  part  of  a  year,  than  my  Letty.  It  seems  only 
a  few  days  ago " 

"  I  guess  you've  forgotten,  James  Gaither,"  came 


"  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND  181 

Ossie's  harsh  voice,  "  that  your  Letty's  exactly  the 
age  Leezer  was  when  you  come  to  the  mountain  and 
married  her." 

"  So  she  is,  so  she  is,  though  it  seems  so  im- 
possible," the  man  answered,  and  passed  a  thin 
tremulous  hand  slowly  over  his  forehead.  "  As 
usual,  Ossie,  you  are  right." 

"  And  I'm  right,"  said  the  woman  in  bitter 
triumph,  "  when  I  tell  you  it's  been  brought  about, 
slow  and  careful,  and  watching  each  thread  in  the 
loom,  by  that  sweet  friend  of  yours,  Mary  Hallon- 
quist." 

"  No,  Ossie,  in  this  thing  at  least  you  are  mis- 
taken. I  have  reason  to  know  it.  Indeed,  I  assure 
you  Mrs.  Hallonquist  will  not  permit  it.  She  ad- 
mires and  likes  Karl,  as  all  of  us  do." 

Ossie  brushed  him  aside  like  a  fly. 

"  As  for  the  woman  allowing,  you  know  for 
yourself,  Brother  James,  that  that  there  upstarting 
Sophie  don't  give  no  more  heed  to  her  Maw's 
prayers  and  pleading  than  I  do  to  Christopher 
here." 

Chris's  shoulders  drooped  forward,  at  this  lash 
of  his  sister's  invective,  but  one  eye,  clear  to  James, 
yet  withdrawn  from  Ossie,  gave  a  slow,  solemn 
wink  of  delight. 

"  You're  distraught  on  that  subject,  James — and 
my  brother's  an  idjit  along  with  you,"  Ossie  con- 
tinued. "  But  I  seen  through  them  drooping  white 
eyelids  and  that  little  soft  voice,  what  a  man's 


182  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

got  to  bend  close  to  hear.  As  I  said  before,  that 
widder  she  knows  her  business.  She's  the  kind  can 
fool  you  he-critters,  but  her  own  sect  sees  through 
her." 

She  paused  to  gain  breath.  Chris,  huddled  down 
in  his  chair,  had  been  slowl}7  inflating. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  moseyin'  on,"  he  timidly 
ventured.  "  Ole  man  Youngblood'll  be  thinking 
I've  quit  him." 

James,  with  a  galvanized  gesture,  withdrew  his 
big  watch.  "  I'll  walk  down  with  you,  Chris,"  he 
declared.  "  I  too,  am  long  behind." 

Ossie  planted  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  pro- 
truded sharp  elbows.  "  Don't  you  men  think 
you're  deceiving  me  none,"  she  remarked,  eyeing 
each  squirming  creature  in  turn.  "  I  know  what 
you're  getting  away  from — and  it  ain't  no  concern 
for  your  offices.  You  air  running  away  on  account 
of  that  pious  female  you  is  both  crazy  over " 

But  the  last  words  came  flat  against  the  inner 
side  of  a  quickly  closed  door. 

By  the  time  the  two  chastened  culprits  had 
passed  the  length  of  the  residence  district,  Chris 
saw  moving  toward  them,  in  the  exact  centre  of  the 
wide  red-clay  thoroughfare,  a  big  mountain  wagon. 

The  schooner's  cover,  once  the  delicate  cream  of 
home-spun  white  cotton,  was  spattered  and 
streaked  yellow-pink  by  the  mountain  road  mud. 
The  driver,  a  long,  lean,  bronzed  man  with  a  small 
dark  moustache, — a  man  quite  strikingly  comely, 


"  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND  183 

— sat  doubled  up  »n  the  front  seat  in  the  pose  of 
a  big  letter  "  N." 

The  reins  hung  loose  in  his  hands,  while  he 
stared  out  to  the  haunches  of  two  well-fed  mules. 
In  the  headgear  of  each  animal  were  stuck  a  couple 
of  vivid  plumes  of  red  sumac. 

"Appears  to  me  I  must  know  him,"  said  Chris 
to  himself.  "  He  sure  favours  some  fellow  I  used 
to  know  on  the  mountain — and  yet — I  cain't  be 
plumb  certain." 

"  Makes  you  feel  rather  homesick,  I  reckon," 
remarked  James,  smiling  to  note  Chris's  eager  eyes. 
He  had  grown  through  the  years  to  love  this  shy 
brother  of  Leezer's  very  dearly.  "  But  look  there, 
Chris,"  whispered  James,  "  I  believe  the  driver 
knows  you.  He  is  looking.  By  George,  he  has 
recognized  you!  Yes " 

But  the  last  part  of  the  sentence  was  never  said, 
for  a  loud  "  Whoa,  ye  beasties ! "  and  a  reverber- 
ant cry,  "  God-a'mighty !  Hang  me  up  by  my 
withers,  if  it  ain't  old  Chris  Laird !  "  went  through 
Chris  like  a  succession  of  voltages. 

"  'Lonzo  Thigpen !  "  he  screamed,  and  made  one 
rush  for  the  wagon.  "  My  good  God !  you 
young  hell-cat, — you  hound-dawg, — you  long-legged 
spider!  "  he  cried  in  such  abandonment  of  rapture, 
that  James  Gaither  stared  hard,  not  more  than  half 
believing  his  own  eyes  or  ears. 

"  Brother  Jim,  it's  'Lonzo,"  beamed  Chris,  drag- 
ging the  slender  young  giant  toward  Mr.  Gaither. 


184  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  I  ain't  seen  him  for  so  many  years,  and  he's 
sprung  up  so  high,  no  wonder  I'd  never  have  known 
him.  Mr.  Gaither,  my  brother-in-law, — you  know, 
Leezer's  husband — this  is  Mr.  'Lonzo  Thigpen  of 
the  far  side  of  old  Painter's  Bald,"  Chris  panted, 
snatching  out  for  the  manners  that  Ossie  had  tried 
so  hard  to  instil. 

James  grasped  the  lean  mountain  hand  very 
cordially,  and  murmured  conventional  greetings. 

This  was  not  quite  enough  for  Chris's  idea  of 
welcome. 

"  An' — an' — 'Lonzo  must  come  by  our  house  for 
a  spell  fo'  he  starts  up  to  the  mountings — now, 
mustn't  he?  " 

Gaither  gave  one  swift  glance  to  huge  mud- 
plastered  feet,  and  lifted  his  eyes  along  homespun 
jeans  trousers  that  rippled  and  sunk  like  a  sand- 
bank with  red  clay  in  the  hollows.  Then  he  met 
the  man's  steady  regard,  and  the  faint  tremor  of 
snobbishness,  mixed  with  fear  of  what  Ossie  might 
say,  left  James  utterly. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Thigpen,"  he  seconded.  "  It 
would  not  do  for  you  to  leave  town  without  stop- 
ping by  to  see  us.  You  must  try  to  persuade  your 
friend  to  remain  over  to  tea,"  he  said,  turning 
directly  to  the  tremulous  Chris. 

'Lonzo's  grave  face  relaxed.  "  It  be  kind  of 
you  to  ask,"  he  began,  when  Chris,  actually  throw- 
ing both  arms  around  his  waist,  cried  aloud, 
"Mighty  kind!  Hell!  he  wants  you, — don't  you 


."  SIS  "  KICKS  UP  SAND  185 

see  for  yourself,  'Lonzo?  He  wants  you, — as  for  me, 
I  cain't  stand  your  going  away  on  a  sudden  nohow. 
I've  got  a  small  room  of  my  own,  don't  even  Ossie 
go  in  it.  I've  got  things  to  show  you, — a  micro- 
scope," he  whispered  impressively,  "  and  a  whole 
lot  of  critters  don't  grow  on  the  mountings.  And 
there  be  five  thousand  questions  I'm  wantin'  to 
ask  ye.  You  come  along  now  with  me,  or  I'm  apt 
to  shoot  you  right  in  the  pants." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  KNIGHT  OP  THE  TIMBERS 

1^  HE  big  schooner  was  hitched  directly  in  front 
of  the  staid  Gaither  home,  'Lonzo  going 
about  the  performance  with  the  grave  care 
and  precision  he  might  have  been  using  on  Stone 
Top.  Just  as  he  was  turning  himself  into  an 
angleworm  across  the  rim  of  one  of  the  huge  mud- 
caked  wheels  in  order  to  lift  out  the  fodder  for  his 
mules,  Chris,  less  graceful  and  pliant,  struggled 
up  to  another  wheel,  grating  off  much  crimson  soil 
in  the  process,  and  plunged  eager  hands  to  the 
load. 

The  sweet,  acrid  scent  of  the  shucks  as  he  tossed 
them  went  to  his  brain.  He  sniffed  it  with  ecstasy. 

"  Smells  like  old  miller  Gosnel's  on  a  hot  grind- 
ing day  at  his  gris'-mill,"  he  murmured  with  eye- 
lids half  closed. 

Still  feeling  about  for  what  he  might  find,  his 
thick,  sensitively-tipped  fingers  encountered  a 
glazed  surface. 

"  Moonshine! "  said  Chris  under  his  breath,  and 
then  drew  his  head  from  the  wagon,  to  search 
out  'Lonzo's  face  for  a  wink.  'A  look  at  once  sly, 

188 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  TIMBERS         187 

boyish,  and  old  in  iniquity,  made  gay  dancing  imps 
of  Chris's  eyes. 

"  No,  that  ain't  no  honey -jug,  Chris.  It  ain't 
lifted  from  no  water-grass  by  a  crick-side,"  the 
other  remarked  placidly.  "  We  air  stopped  all 
that  totin'  for  ages." 

"  You  don't  say  it,  now !  Then  what  you  got 
here?  "  Chris  demanded,  as  a  new  concealed  object 
rewarded  his  fumblings.  "It  feels  like  a  big  paste- 
board box,  kinder  poky  and  springy." 

"  It  air  that,"  conceded  Alonzo.  "  Haul  it  out. 
It's  a  passel  of  all  manner  of  doodingles  I  bought 
in  the  town." 

Chris  began  to  pull  vigorously.  His  tongue, 
thrust  far  out,  acquired  a  rich  layer  of  hay  dust. 
With  a  last  angry  rustle  of  shucks,  the  huge  pack- 
age was  free. 

'Lonzo  cast  down  toward  it  the  languid  proud 
look  of  possession.  "  If  we's  ready  to  step  indoors 
now,"  he  remarked,  "  we  might  as  well  take  it  in 
with  us."  ' 

Chris  was  staggering  under  his  load,  an  enor- 
mous green  box  of  glazed  pasteboard,  with  a  label 
on  top,  which  declared  it  had  come  from  Dunrobin's 
"  Emporium." 

All  of  the  pangs  of  aroused  curiosity,  supposed 
to  inhere  in  the  breast  of  the  middle-aged  female, 
now  clawed  at  Chris's  masculine  vitals.  He  finally 
asked  pleadingly,  "  How  come  you  been  buying  out 
all  the  whole  store  of  James  Weldon  &  Co.?  " 


188  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

'Lonzo  turned  around  and  smiled.  It  seemed  in 
Chris's  eyes  like  a  shaft  of  clear  light  on  a  moun- 
tain. "  Don't  you  reckon,"  the  visitor  drawled, 
deliberately  teasing  the  other,  "  that  Weldon  is 
got  pritty  things  for  he-critters?  " 

"  And  you  sw'ar  you  ain't  fitting  yourself  for  a 
bridegroom?  " 

"  I'll  swear,"  replied  the  cryptic  Alonzo. 

Chris  gave  it  up.  By  this  time  the  two  had  come 
to  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  main  doorway. 

"  Take  the  side-trail,"  Chris  cautioned ;  "  Ossie 
don't  let  me  to  go  into  the  front,  without  I  stops 
on  the  brick  walk,  and  scrapes  the  mud  off  my 
shoes.  I  got  steps  at  the  back,  that  runs  straight 
to  my  own  little  hogpen.  I  goes  that  way.  It's 
safer." 

Alonzo  deflected  with  a  haste  that  bespoke  vivid 
memories  of  Miss  Ossie.  He  never  once  offered  to 
take  the  great  load  from  his  friend,  but  strode 
on  before  as  if  Chris  was  a  pack-mule  and  he  its 
free  master. 

Chris  slid  the  big  box  to  the  planks  of  the 
verandah,  where  it  lay  for  hours  utterly  forgotten, 
and  producing  a  small  bunch  of  keys  proceeded 
to  open  his  door. 

"  I  keeps  it  locked,"  the  host  explained.  "  It's 
to  keep  out  them  blasted  house-cleaners." 

The  men  stepped  within,  Alonzo  in  the  lead. 

"  I  see  you  still  cares  for  bug-critters,"  remarked 
the  visitor  politely,  as  his  broad  hat  remained  in 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  TIMBERS         189 

the  air,  being  caught  up  and  held  by  a  specially 
thick  and  tenacious  cobweb. 

Chris  flushed  with  annoyance.  He  felt  as  a 
mother  whose  favourite  child  had  been  naughty 
before  strangers. 

"  I'd  plumb  forgotten  that  tough  net  of  ole  Epeira 
Diadema,"  he  apologized.  "  I  trained  it  up  so  that 
it  just  misses  my  head,  but  I  should  have  known 
yours  would  go  higher." 

Still  murmuring  penitent  phrases,  Chris  caught 
down  the  hat,  and  with  a  crooked  elbow  began  to 
wipe  away  the  grey  skeins. 

"  That  bait-gourd  there  in  the  corner,"  observed 
'Lonzo,  in  a  kindly  effort  to  withdraw  the  bereaved 
Chris's  attention.  "  It  looks  powerfully  like  old 
fishing  days.  I  didn't  realize  you  had  fishing 
here." 

"  We  doesn't.  Don't  touch  it ! "  Chris  cried  as 
if  in  anguish,  and  dropping  the  hat  he  plunged 
across  the  room  toward  Alonzo.  "  It  ain't  got 
fish-bait  in  it.  It's  chuck  full  of  mud,  where  I'm 
trying  to  hatch  out  a  new  brand  of  caterpillar." 

"  Kin  to  that  on  your  bed?  "  inquired  Alonzo. 
His  tone  was  still  courteous,  but  his  words  had 
an  edge. 

The  distracted  householder,  replacing  the  gourd 
in  its  niche,  hurried  back  to  where  a  venomous- 
looking  reptile,  the  length  of  one's  finger,  and 
covered  with  bristling  red  hair,  was  making  a 
leisurely  progress  across  the  counterpane. 


190  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris  bent  over,  extending  a  thumb  and  fore- 
finger, then  he  paused,  shook  his  head,  and  open- 
ing a  top  drawer,  took  out  a  pair  of  slim 
forceps. 

"  This  here  kind,"  he  told  Alonzo,  whose  good- 
natured  smile  had  returned,  "  has  a  fuzz  like  the 
stinging  of  nettles."  While  talking,  Chris  had 
lifted  the  creature  in  his  forceps,  and  standing  on 
tiptoes,  disposed  him  on  the  twigs  of  a  bare  branch 
that  was  tacked  over  the  head  of  his  bed,  and 
from  wThich  were  suspended  three  shrivelled  co- 
coons, like  big  may-pops. 

"  Well  now,  we  be  shot  of  the  whole  lot,"  said 
Chris  in  a  tone  of  relief.  "  You  go  perch  on  that 
rocking-chair  by  the  window." 

"  No!  don't  sit!  "  he  shrieked  wildly,  as  'Lonzo's 
long  legs  bent  at  the  knees.  "  Lemme  grab  up  them 
papers  and  books, — there  is  microscope  slides  stuck 
amongst  them,  and  they'll  bust  if  you  sit." 

WThen  the  surface  was  cleared,  Alonzo  cautiously 
seated  himself.  The  day  was  not  warm,  but  the 
guest  now  withdrew  from  his  pocket  a  huge  hand- 
kerchief of  navy-blue  cotton,  thickly  sprinkled  with 
stars,  and  began  to  wipe  off  a  moist  forehead. 

"  I'll  camp  on  this  side  of  the  bed,"  beamed  Chris. 
"  Now,  old  wild-cat,  I  want  to  hear  every  Gawd's 
bit  of  news  from  His  country.  How's  your  Paw 
and  your  Maw?  " 

Scarcely  waiting  to  hear  that  the  latter  was 
"dade,"  and  the  former  was  quite  spry,  Chris 


191 

drove  on.  "  And  old  Esau,  our  horse?  I  suppose 
it  ain't  in  nature  the  old  beast  is  ambling  yet?  " 

'Lonzo  shook  his  head,  as  he  answered  with  all 
the  solemnity  due  to  bereavement. 

"  No,  Chris — we  have  skunt  and  tanned  poor  old 
Esau  a  matter  of  five  years  ago.  He  made  power- 
ful good  leather,  bein'  so  tough  and  stringy.  We 
buried  his  bones  and  his  chit'lings  just  from  kind 
feeling  todes  you  and  Miss  Ossie,"  Alonzo  added 
consolingly. 

"  That  was  sure  good  of  you,"  said  Chris,  and 
for  some  moments  afterward  sat  huddled  together 
in  a  silence  that  grieved  for  the  dear  equine  de- 
parted. 

"  And  your  next  brother,  Tim.  Air  he  mar- 
ried? "  inquired  Chris,  as  though  Tim  were  akin 
to  the  corpse. 

"  Yes,  he's  hooked,"  said  Alonzo  succinctly. 

"  That  long-legged  Amy  of  old  miller  Gosnel, 
she  ketched  him.  She's  a  good  gal  enough," 
'Lonzo  hastened  to  add.  "  And  I'm  in  nowise 
faultin'  her.  She've  a  fine  head  of  young'uns 
a'ready.  It's  only  that  she's  like  the  runnin'  of  all 
of  them  young  mounting  fillies, — they's  pretty  an' 
happy,  with  white  teeth  to  show  when  they's  laffln', 
for  about  thirty  year — an'  then  all  to  onct  they 
begin  bendin'  over  an'  shrivellin'.  Their  ha'r  an' 
their  teeth  all  falls  out,  an'  they  ties  up  their  heads 
fer  neuralgy.  It  was  so  with  yo'  mother  an'  with 
mine." 


192  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris  nodded  a  dejected  affirmative. 

"  If  ever  it  be  that  I  should  wed,"  declared  the 
visitor,  "  I  aim  to  pick  out  that  sort  of  a  gal  what 
will  grow  to  a  pretty  old  lady." 

x "  Then,  ye'll  have  to  pick  here,"  remarked  Chris, 
in  a  tone  of  decision,  his  mind  being  full  of  Miss 
Mary.  "  Them  lasting  kinds  don't  grow  on  the 
mountings." 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  swift  questions  and 
answers  were  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  it  was  the 
savoury  odours  of  ham  being  fried  in  the  kitchen 
that  brought  Chris  back  to  his  duty  as  host. 

"  Sakes  alive,  man!  "  he  exclaimed,  jumping  up. 
"  That  supper-bell  it'll  ring  before  we  knows  it. 
We  got  to  spruce-up  and  be  thinking  of  joining 
the  ladies." 

Alonzo  unfolded  his  joints,  and  slowly  attained 
his  great  height.  His  large  feet  stamped  vigorously 
on  the  floor,  at  which  square  cakes  of  mud, 
like  red  icing,  fell  away  and  remained,  hard  as 
chips. 

"  You  might  wash  down  them  pants  with  a  hair- 
brush," Chris  delicately  suggested.  "  And  that 
poker  can  beat  off  the  rest  of  the  mud  from  your 
brogans.  You  can  do  it  right  here  in  my  room,  if 
you  minds  to.  Baby  Doll'll  come  in  and  shovel  me 
out  Saturday  morning." 

'Lonzo  followed  Chris's  eyes,  down  the  undulant 
trouser  legs  to  his  boots.  A  mysterious  smile 
dawned  on  his  lips.  There  was  something  about  his 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  TIMBERS         193 

whole  attitude  so  concessive  that  Chris  ventured 
further. 

"  We  got  a  big  bath  tub  two  doors  off  from  this 
room,"  the  host  imparted  to  his  guest.  "There's 
hot  water  and  cold.  It's  fine.  Ossie  makes  me 
wash  me  all  over  every  day.  If  you  have  any  no- 
tion to  try  it "  he  paused  for  more  breath. 

The  glance  sent  upwards  to  'Lonzo's  bronzed  face 
was  a  trifle  apprehensive. 

"  Blaze  the  trail ! "  cried  this  knight  of  the 
timbers.  "  I'm  to  come  to  it  soon, — and  this  here's 
a  bully  good  time  for  to  take  my  first  lesson." 

"  What  you  trying  to  say,  'Lonzo  Thigpen?  "  the 
other  demanded,  his  eyes  crinkling  small  with 
perplexity.  "  What  you  mean  about  coming  to 
it  soon?  " 

"  Drag  in  old  James  WTeldon  &  Co.,  an'  I'll  tell 
ye,"  said  'Lonzo,  beginning  to  giggle  like  a  young 
girl. 

Chris  dashed  from  the  door,  and  came  back  pull- 
ing the  box  by  a  string. 

"  Dump  'er  down  on  yo'  baid,"  ordered  the  tall 
mountaineer.  "  Ye  didn't  suppose,  did  ye,"  he  in- 
quired a  little  resentfully,  "  that  I'd  took  that  invite 
from  Mr.  Gaither  if  I  thought  I  was  goin'  to  set 
in  to  his  table  in  clothes  lookin'  like  a  muddy  old 
razor-back  up  from  a  hog-waller? 

"  No,  they's  clothes  in  that  box,"  'Lonzo  con- 
tinued. "  A  new  suit  from  the  shelves  in  old 
Weldon's — an'  underwear,  shirts,  socks,  new  shoes, 


194  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

an'  fine  long  kervats,  to  hang  down  my  shirt-front. 
More'n  a  hunderd  the  hull  outfit  cost  me." 

The  two,  eager  now  as  young  debutantes  whose 
ball  frocks  have  just  been  sent  home,  tore  away 
many  strings  and  flung  the  green  box  top  far  under 
the  bed. 

"  Jimmanetiky  jump-ups !  "  sighed  Chris,  as  he 
seized  on  a  pair  of  pale  yellow  socks,  striped  mer- 
rily round  with  green  circles.  "  But  ain't  them 
winners!  Now  that's  what  I  call  somethin'  like. 
Ossie  won't  let  me  wear  nothing  gayer  than  these 
pesky  black  ones,  what  turns  brown  in  the  wash." 

He  stuck  forth  at  an  angle  one  disconsolate 
shank.  'Lonzo  nodded  his  sympathy,  and  then  his 
proud  eye  returned  to  his  own  superior  possessions. 

"  Lord,  man !  don't  stop  here  any  longer,  but  get 
in  that  wash  tub  and  lather,"  pleaded  Chris,  to 
whom  all  of  this  excitement  had  brought  abnormal 
energy.  "  I've  half  of  a  mind  to  go  along  too,  and 
scour  you — to  get  through  quicker.  I  can't  wait 
to  see  how  you'll  look  in  them  plaid  pants." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER 

WHILE  'Lonzo  was  gone,  Chris  went 
through  each  new-smelling  garment.  He 
fingered  them  lovingly,  smiling  on  each, 
just  as  in  her  own  home  "  Miss  Mary  "  would  pat 
and  caress  the  pretty  things  bought  for  her  Sophie. 

Alonzo  returned,  looking  a  little  ridiculous  in 
Chris's  flannel  night-shirt  that  was  pressed  into 
use  as  a  bath-robe,  for  his  red-brown  legs  showed 
to  the  knees.  His  hair,  yet  black  in  its  wetness, 
stuck  out  in  long  wedges  over  his  ears  and  the 
back  of  his  neck.  His  host  gazed  on  the  bristling 
points,  and  longed  to  cut  them. 

"  Yes,  you're  plumb  clean  and  pretty,"  Chris  ex- 
claimed in  a  gratified  voice.  "  Let  me  get  one  look 
back  of  your  ears.  They're  all  right — clean  as  if 
Ossie  herself  had  been  at  you.  And  how  'bout 
them  finger-nails?  We  down  in  the  low-country 
is  powerful  perticular  about  such." 

The  docile  Alonzo  extended  two  long,  virile 
hands  the  colour  of  copper. 

"  Erh-7ii//i.'  "  grieved  Chris,  shaking  his  head. 
"  If  grass-seeds  blew  under  them  nails,  you'd  be 
needing  a  scythe-blade  to  mow  them.  Here,  sit  by 

195 


196  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  window — I  can  get  at  you  better  than  standing. 
We  got  to  scoop  every  one  out,  same  as  the  holler 
of  a  tooth  when  it's  aching." 

"  Is  you  kept  yo's  scooped  all  these  years?  "  de- 
manded the  victim,  as  Chris,  kneeling  down  to  the 
floor,  and  armed  with  a  toothpick  and  a  pair  of 
hedge-clippers,  began  excavations. 

"I  don't  have  to,"  said  Chris,  grinning  broadly. 
"  I  bites  them  off." 

'Lonzo  winced,  not  so  much  at  the  statement  but 
because  at  the  instant  the  point  of  the  shears 
reached  the  quick  of  his  thumb. 

"  What  they  taste  like,  the  whilst  ye  be  chaw- 
in'?"  he  inquired  rather  faintly,  "I  ain't  never 
tried  yet,  an'  I  'low  I  won't  take  to  the  flavour 
— but  sence  I'm  p'inted  to  live  in  yo'  city " 

"  There !  You've  said  it  again !  "  exclaimed 
Chris,  and  his  shears  clattered  to  the  floor.  "  Have 
it  out,  man — don't  keep  up  these  onderhand  hint- 
ings." 

"Ain't  no  onderhand  hintin's,"  protested  the 
badgered  Alonzo.  "  It's  a  fact  I  bin  try  in'  to  state 
for  how  long — a  fact  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  yo' 
face.  An'  it  would  be  hard  to  find  anything 
plainer,"  he  added  unkindly,  "  for  it  looks  like 
an  old  devil's  snuff-box,  before  it's  ready  to  bust." 

Chris  drew  back.  He  coloured  as  though  'Lonzo 
had  struck  him. 

"  How-come  you  feel  called  to  spend  words  on 
my  nose?  "  he  asked  in  a  high,  injured  voice.  "  It's 


LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER  197 

doing  no  harm  to  nobody.  I  merely  was  interested 
— we  being  friends — in  hoping  you  might  be  com- 
ing here  to  the  valley, — and  you  goes  making  fun 
of  my  nose."  As  he  spoke  a  thick,  tremulous  hand 
was  caressing  the  affronted  member. 

'Lonzo's  facile,  thin  face  grew  remorseful. 

"  It  was  only  my  pizenous  temper,  old-hop-toad," 
he  placated.  "  This  here  thumb  is  hurtin'  yet. 
I'm  a  sheep-stealin'  dawg  for  to  sass  ye.  Your 
nose  is  a  whole  passel  better'n  this  hawk-beak  o' 
mine."  He  flipped  at  the  beak  with  his  free  hand, 
to  show  his  disdain.  "  An'  the  hull  mounting 
knows,"  he  went  on,  determined  to  sooth  the  last 
touch  of  resentment,  "  that  yo's  is  the  keenest  far- 
smeller  on  Painter's  Bald." 

This  tribute  brought  back  the  smiles  to  Chris's 
clouded  visage. 

"  Tell  me  quick,  then — all  my  bones  is  a-watering 
to  hear  about  them  plans  for  you  to  move  down 
here  to  the  valley." 

"  Well,  it  seems  that  big  furniture  fact'ry  of 
yours  acrost  the  river  is  callin'  in  all  the  big  hick'- 
ries  an'  walnuts  an'  hazels  they  kin  git,  and  we's 
had  so  much  trouble  with  agints — dirty  rats,  I  calls 
'em,"  went  on  'Lonzo  vindictively,  "  that  the  only 
way  we  could  see  to  pertect  our  own  intrusts,  was 
to  open  an  office  ourselves  an'  put  a  good  man  here 
to  run  it." 

"  And  you  be  that  man,"  affirmed  Chris,  in  bliss- 
ful conviction. 


198  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Yes,  I  be.  An'  this  here's  my  las'  trip  up  the 
mountings  for  long.  The  nex'  time  I  travel,  it'll 
be  in  another  man's  waggin,  an'  another  man  hold- 
in'  the  reins.  It  sure  will  feel  funny." 

'Lonzo  reached  for  a  shirt.  "  Seems  like  this 
here  bright  pink  one  with  pritty  blue  stripes  would 
be  cheerful,"  he  suggested,  holding  forth  a  large 
garment  in  mid-air.  "  An'  the  kervat  to  go  with  it 
— let's  see — yesj — this  here  hit's  the  bead!  It's 
flowin'  an'  long — an'  I  allays  was  partial  to  blue 
things." 

Chris  wrinkled  his  eyes  like  a  connoisseur.  To 
his  vision,  trained  in  the  shimmering  hues  of  beetle 
wings  and  the  cream-coloured  eggs  of  his  spiders, 
the  necktie  appeared  to  be  a  violent  pokeberry 
magenta. 

"  Yes — they'll  do  well  enough,"  he  assented 
doubtfully.  "  Can  you  put  them  on  all  by  your- 
self? " 

Having  demonstrated  this  ability,  Alonzo  leaned 
forward  to  peer  into  Chris's  greenish  mirror. 
"  Now  'bout  partin'  my  hair — how's  yo's  done?  " 
asked  the  tall  mountaineer  looking  around  over 
one  shoulder  toward  Chris. 

"  Lord,  don't  look  at  mine !  "  cried  the  embar- 
rassed model,  "  it  grows  like  a  scant  patch  of  rye 
on  the  mountains.  There's  partings  in  it  every 
which  way  you  turns.  But  Brother  James  draws 
a  straight  path  through  the  bushes,  over  his  left 
ear  like  this "  he  caught  up  a  comb,  jerked 


LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER  199 

'Lonzo  down  by  a  shoulder,  and  ploughed  a  long 
row  in  his  scalp. 

"  Ouch !  "  protested  Alonzo.  "  He  don't  hev  to 
dig  up  the  skin  with  it,  do  he?  " 

"  You  wait,"  ordered  Chris.  "  What's  the  matter 
with  us,  is  that  I've  forgotten  to  light.  You  do  it 
like  this,"  he  explained  condescendingly,  drawing  a 
match  along  'Lonzo's  new  shirt  bosom,  and  pro- 
ceeding to  turn  up  the  gas.  "You  don't  blow  it  out 
when  it's  lighted.  You  turn  it  with  your  finger 
and  thumb, — like  this." 

The  wavering  blue  fan  of  a  flame,  that  had  for 
an  instant  thrown  brown  colour  and  depth  into 
'Lonzo's  dark  wondering  eyes,  popped  back  into 
its  tube. 

"  Dad-burn  it !  The  whole  thing  is  gone,"  Chris 
said  petulantly,  "  and  all  my  matches  are  spilt. 
That's  right,  scratch  a  new  one,"  he  encouraged,  as 
'Lonzo  stooping  swiftly,  was  heard  to  scrape  his 
clean  finger-nails  over  the  floor  in  search  for  the 
matches. 

"  Scratch  her  anywhere,"  said  Chris  generously, 
"  so's  you  don't  go  too  far  into  the  corner.  I've 
a  special  fine  web  hanging  there.  Now  we've  got 
her.  You  see  how  the  turning  is  done? "  he 
triumphed,  as  a  long  tongue  of  gas  went  shrieking 
up  toward  the  ceiling. 

"  Yes — yes ! !  "  cried  Alonzo.  "  Don't  show  me 
again.  I  got  two  splinters  now  in  my  fingers.  I 


200  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

won't  blow  her  out.  I  don't  like  the  stink  of  her 
nohow." 

Leaving  Alonzo  to  add  a  few  lingering  touches 
to  his  masculine  beauty,  Chris  slipped  from  the 
room,  and,  with  heart  growing  heavier  each 
moment,  and  feet  like  two  large  squares  of  ice, 
went  in  search  of  Miss  Ossie.  James  had  not  come 
yet,  and  the  housekeeper  had  to  be  told  of  her 
imminent  guest  at  the  table. 

Chris  knocked  on  his  sister's  closed  door.  It  was 
not  the  bold  rap  of  a  cave-man.  He  paused,  fist 
suspended,  but  no  summons  came.  He  was  trying 
to  get  the  courage  for  a  second  attempt  when,  in 
the  dimly  lit  hall,  from  across  the  way,  Mildred 
opened  a  door,  and  tiptoed  in  his  direction.  Her 
finger  was  raised  to  warn  him  against  further 
noise. 

Even  in  this  flickering  light,  Chris's  eyes  were 
quick  to  take  in  the  girl's  altered  appearance. 

Mildred  had  been  weeping  long,  yet  the  marks 
of  her  grief  served  but  to  deepen  the  blueness  of 
her  large  gentle  eyes,  and  to  lend  a  new  sweetness 
and  dignity  to  her  usually  smiling  face.  The 
gown  which  she  wore,  a  simple  dark  blue,  with 
white  cuffs  and  collar,  brought  out  all  of  the  gold 
in  her  hair,  and  the  delicate  tints  of  her  skin. 

Never  had  Mildred  looked  quite  so  much  like 
her  mother,  and  seeing  it,  Chris's  heart  grew 
tender. 

"  Is  Ossie  sick,  Milly?  "  he  whispered. 


LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER  201 

His  niece  nodded.  "  Poor,  poor  Auntie/'  she 
murmured.  "  She  is  suffering  so  much  with  her 
head  that  she  can't  lift  it  from  the  pillow." 

To  the  girl's  utter  amazement  her  uncle  pro- 
ceeded to  catch  her  around  her  slim  waist,  and 
try  to  dance  down  the  long  hall.  From  his  lips 
came  in  snatches  of  muffled  thanksgiving  such  ex- 
pressions as,  "  Of  all  the  luck !  The  Lord's  sure 
with  me  an'  'Lonzo,  an'  I  wisht  I  could  shout  it  out 
loud." 

"  Uncle  Chris/'  Mildred  exclaimed,  drawing 
away  when  they  had  gained  the  back  door,  that 
led  to  the  upper  verandah,  "  are  you  crazy — to  be 
dancing  like  this?  Are  you  glad  poor  Aunt  Ossie 
is  suffering?  " 

"  No,  child,  no,"  said  Chris  hastily.  "  You  can't 
understand  yet.  We've  some  company  for  supper, 
— your  Paw  asked  him.  It  was  none  of  my  doin' 
— though  God  knows  I  wanted  it  bad." 

"  Company  for  supper? "  repeated  Mildred, 
plainly  showing  her  chagrin. 

"  Only  'Lonzo  Thigpen,"  placated  Chris.  "  He's 
from  the  mountains.  My  best  friend — 'Lonzo. 
Your  Paw  will  be  kind  to  him,  but  I  warn't  sure  of 
Ossie.  Being  upset  as  she  is,  she  might  fling  a  cup 
or  saucer  at  'Lonzo.  She  clove  down  the  calf  of 
his  leg  once — she  did — and  'Lonzo's  been  scared 
of  her  ever  since. 

"  But  you'll  be  nice  to  him,  Milly — now  won't 
you? "  Chris  pleaded.  "  You  won't  laugh  at  his 


202  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

talk — and  you'll  turn  your  eyes  sidewise,  if  he 
licks  off  the  spout  of  the  molasses  pitcher — now 
promise." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Mildred,  half  laughing,  half 
crying.  It  was  not  to  her  taste  much  more  than 
to  Ossie's  to  have  an  intruder  at  the  close  of  that 
tragic  day.  But,  after  all,  what  else  mattered? 

"  I  hear  Father  now,"  she  exclaimed,  as  the  front 
door  downstairs  opened  and  closed.  "  And  perhaps 
I'd  better  warn  Letty." 

"  Yes,  do,"  whispered  her  uncle,  "  though  I  tell 
you,  if  that  sassy  young  filly  dares  make  fun  of 
'Lonzo  before  me,  she'll  rue  it." 

"  Oh,  she'll  be  all  right,  and  me  too,  Uncle  Chris. 
You  needn't  worry." 

"  And  I  can  bring  'Lonzo  down  soon's  he's 
ready?  " 

*'  At  once.  Baby  Doll  has  the  tea-bell  in  her 
hands  now." 

With  Mr.  Thigpen  presented  to  both  of  his 
nieces,  and  safely  "  set  in  "  to  the  broad  mahogany 
table,  Chris  drew  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

An  old-fashioned  chandelier  hung  above  the  com- 
pany. The  four  gas-jets,  with  rays  interlaced, 
threw  cross-lights  upon  the  small  circle.  The  large 
plaids  on  Alonzo's  new  coat,  which  in  daylight 
would  surely  reverberate,  melted  here  to  a  digni- 
fied grey.  Even  the  pink  shirt  and  pokeberry  tie, 
gained  a  tone  of  comparative  quiet,  and  above  them 
the  keen,  vivid  face  of  the  man,  with  its  straight 


LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER  203 

level  brows  over  eyes  that  were  brown  as  the  table, 
gleamed  out  in  the  hues  of  a  Rembrandt. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  James  Gaither  re- 
strained himself  from  staring.  He  could  scarcely 
believe  it  the  same  lank,  uncouth  mountaineer  from 
the  backwoods  to  whom  he  had  given  the  invita- 
tion. 

Letty,  discarding  such  rules  of  politeness,  looked 
long  and  straight  at  their  guest.  She  thought  she 
had  never  seen  eyes  so  steady  and  so  searching, 
nor  a  mouth  that  could  be  quite  so  grave  under  its 
small  thatch  of  bronze-brown  moustache.  She  had 
been  reading  Tennyson  lately,  and  she  was  sure 
that  in  armour,  and  in  a  flowing  white  mantle,  here 
would  be  the  exact  Launcelot  of  her  dreams. 

As  for  Mildred,  after  the  first  casual  glance,  she 
scarcely  seemed  to  perceive  Alonzo.  For  her,  all 
interest  in  the  male  sex  was  over.  During  that  long 
terrible  day  she  had  wavered  between  what  ap- 
peared to  her  the  only  two  alternatives:  first,  a 
picturesque  suicide,  based  on  that  of  the  unhappy 
Ophelia, — or  a  long  life  embittered  by  grief,  and 
dedicated  to  a  tragic  virginity.  Suicide  having 
at  length  been  discarded,  because  of  Mildred's  fear 
of  the  water,  there  remained  only  a  self-imposed 
withering  on  a  stalk  Karl  had  stripped  of  its  blos- 
soms. 

Alonzo  was  abnormally  hungry.  He  held  in  his 
mind  the  sad  fact  that  fine  folk  in  the  city  never 
are  betrayed  into  putting  a  knife  into  their  mouths. 


204  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

For  the  first  ten  minutes  or  so,  the  guest's  brows 
were  kept  frowning,  and  his  mouth  grim,  in  the 
effort  to  appease  a  keen  appetite  and  at  the  same 
time  refrain  from  his  usual  method  of  transmitting 
his  food.  Having  been  fairly  successful,  though 
there  were  still  bits  of  ham  that  refused  to  be 
speared  by  his  fork,  'Lonzo  raised  his  dark  eyes 
and  deliberately  set  them  on  Mildred. 

"  'Lonzo  ain't  hitched-up  yet,"  broke  in  Chris — 
and  then  recalling  his  manners — "  that  is,  Mr. 
Thigpen  ain't  married,"  he  explained. 

"  No?  "  said  Gaither  politely,  and  turned  his 
kind  smile  to  the  bachelor  in  question.  ."  Why,  I 
always  understood,  Mr.  Thigpen,  that  you  men  of 
the  mountains  married  quite  early  in  life." 

"  They  do  mostly,"  replied  'Lonzo,  his  eyes  still 
on  Mildred,  "but  with  me  somehow  it's  bin  dif- 
frunt." 

A  queer  silence  fell  upon  the  group. 

Something  shivered  and  quickened  in  Mildred, 
as  one  leaf,  on  a  very  still  day,  begins  suddenly  and 
without  apparent  cause  to  flutter.  Her  eyes  met 
those  of  the  visitor,  and  they  held  the  dawn  of  a 
question. 

'Lonzo  laid  down  his  knife  and  his  fork.  "  Yes," 
he  repeated,  even  more  slowly,  "  with  me  it's  bin 
diffrunt.  As  a  boy  I  loved  one  lady — she  was  older, 
an'  too  far  above  me.  It  war  Leezer — the  lady  you 
married,"  he  said,  looking  straight  at  James 
Gaither. 


LEEZER'S  DAUGHTER  205 

As  no  one  spoke,  Alonzo  added :  "  They's  bin  no 
other  rose  on  the  mountings  as  sweet  as  the  one 
that  blowed  for  you.  I  loved  her,  boy  as  I  was,  an' 
I  had  thought  not  to  love  nairy  other.  It  didn't 
seem  like  in  nature  thar  ever  could  be  sech  another, 
— but  I've  found  out  tonight  as  they  be." 

With  the  swiftness  of  light,  his  deep  passionate 
look  flew  back  to  Mildred.  The  girl's  hand  faltered 
up  to  her  throat.  Heat  and  cold  trembled  through 
her,  as  shadow  and  sun  fret  a  wheatfield. 

'Lonzo  leaned  a  few  inches  closer.  "  I'm  comin' 
to  Dunrobin  to  live,  and  be  near  to  you,  Miss 
Mildred,"  pronounced  this  strange  knight  of  the 
timbers,  and  seeing  her  eyes  shrink  and  fall,  he 
laughed  low,  a  laugh  full  of  masterful  sweetness. 
The  teeth  that  his  smile  now  displayed  were  even 
and  white. 

"  I  'low  to  learn  manners  an'  talk  same  as  you 
do,"  he  said,  speaking  directly  to  Mildred.  "  I 
'low  to  become  as  ole  Chris  here  is  sed  that  I  kin 
do — a  man  like  the  young  bloods  o'  yo'  city.  I 
'lows  I  won't  make  ye  ashamed." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  ULTIMATUM 

TIDINGS  of  the  Hallonquist  engagement 
swept  through  Dunrobin  like  fire  through 
a  field  of  dry  grain.  There  were  few  friendly 
comments.  Sophie's  thoughtless  disdain  of  her 
elders  had  not  tended  to  make  her  a  popular  figure, 
such  as  Mildred  Gaither.  Mary  Hallonquist  too, 
though  widely  termed  "  sweet,"  had  not  alto- 
gether escaped  censure.  She  was  known  to  be 
over-indulgent  and  weak  where  her  daughter  was 
concerned,  and,  in  herself,  was  a  bit  too  withdrawn 
and  exclusive. 

When  added  to  these  handicaps  in  the  general 
approval,  Miss  Ossie  now  took  on  herself  to  stride 
up  and  down  in  Biblical  roaring  and  raging,  de- 
nouncing that  "low-lived  young  coward-skunk  of 
a  Karl  Trenham,  and  the  what-all  he's  done  to  niece 
Mildred,"  the  small  town  was  soon  in  a  ferment. 

In  vain  did  poor,  horrified  Mildred  implore  her 
rash  aunt  to  keep  silence — declaring  such  vulgar 
publicity  was  far  worse  than  anything  Cousin  Karl 
had  done.  But  for  once  the  implacable  mountain 
woman  was  deaf  to  the  voice  of  her  darling.  Her 
sense  of  resentment,  of  fury  and  of  vengeance  was 

206 


THE  ULTIMATUM  207 

rampant,  and  although  she  did  not  realize  the  fact, 
it  was  Miss  Ossie  Laird's  bitterness  of  defeat  that 
was  being  assuaged  rather  than  a  generous  attempt 
to  defend  the  unhappy  Mildred. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish,"  the  girl  cried  in  despair,  once 
when  Uncle  Chris  chanced  to  be  near  her,  "  that 
I  hadn't  refused  Henry  Whiting!  I  would  marry 
him  now  if  he  asked  me  again — I  would — in  a 
minute.  I'd  be  willing  to  marry  almost  any  one 
decent  and  kind  just  to  stop  Auntie's  terrible  gos- 
sip." 

Mrs.  HaWonquist  fought  her  battles  alone  for 
three  days,  and  then  sent  off  a  note  by  old  Grief. 
It  bore  the  address,  "  James  Gaither,  Esq."  and 
was  superscribed  "  personal  and  private." 

"  I  cannot  endure  this  great  strain  by  myself  any 
longer  [the  poor  woman  wrote,  and  her  insecure  pen- 
strokes  attested  to  the  truth  of  her  words],  I  must 
have  some  one  to  advise  me.  I've  so  far  held  my  own 
against  Sophie,  but  feel  that  my  strength  nears  the 
end.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can,  James.  I  need  you. 
I'll  be  watching  this  evening.  Please  come. 

Your  distracted,  unhappy  old  friend, 

MAEY   HALLONQUIST." 

After  supper  that  evening,  Mr.  Gaither  rose, 
pushed  his  chair  to  its  place  under  the  table  and 
announcing  curtly,  "  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or 
so,"  made  his  way  from  the  house,  and  out  through 


208  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  early  spring  twilight  toward  the  Hallonquist 
cottage. 

On  the  porch  he  had  dimly  discerned  two  huddled 
figures,  when  they  sprang  nimbly  apart. 

Sophie's  giggle  rang  through  the  darkness. 
"  Mother's  in  by  the  fire.  I  know  you've  come  to 
see  her,  Uncle  James,"  the  engaged  one  cried  out, 
with  no  further  greetings.  Karl  had  not  moved 
nor  spoken. 

The  visitor  went  in,  and  hearing  him  coming, 
Mary  threw  wide  the  dining-room  door. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  that  you've  come !  I  began  to 
think  you  never  would.  Shut  both  doors,"  she 
went  on  nervously.  "  There,  that's  right.  If  we 
speak  low  I'm  sure  they  can't  hear  us.  Oh,  James 
— James — what  on  earth  shall  I  do?  " 

She  flung  herself  down  to  a  chair,  her  gaze  never 
leaving  his  face. 

Gaither  cleared  a  dry  throat.  He  wished  that 
she  would  not  follow  each  step  that  he  made  with 
those  wide,  hunted  eyes. 

"  Oh,  James,  James,  what  do  you  think  has  hap- 
pened? "  Mrs.  Hallonquist  began  again,  forcing 
the  words.  "  She  threatens  that  if  I  don't  consent 
she'll — Sophie'll — leave  me." 

"  You  mean,  run  away  and  be  married?  "  James 
queried,  his  eyes  growing  shrewder. 

"  Yes, — she  used  the  terrible  word  more  than 
once.  She  and  Trenham  have  threatened  to — 
elope." 


THE  ULTIMATUM  209 

"Are  you  sure  that  Karl  threatened?"  asked 
Gaither,  and  when  Mary  said  "  No  "  he  looked  in- 
tensely relieved. 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  worry  at  all,"  he  declared. 
"  It  is  only  a  schoolgirlish.  menace  to  annoy  you. 
The  State  laws  will  uphold  you  in  opposing  it. 
Sophie's  a  minor  by  more  than  a  year;  they  can't 
get  a  license  to  marry." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  laws! "  the  other  exclaimed, 
"  all  I  want  is  to  prevent  this  disaster." 

"  And  you  are  sure  it  would  be  a  disaster? " 
Gaither  demanded.  "  Karl  is  bound  to  succeed. 
He  is  frank  and  well-spoken.  His  business  ability 
amounts  to  sheer  genius,  and  he  is  steady  in  morals, 
as  far  as  I  know.  He  never  misses  church  service, 
and- " 

"  Stop !  "  flamed  Mary,  her  white  cheeks  turned 
to  red.  "  I  answer  with  just  one  small  question. 
Would  you  want  one  of  your  daughters  to  marry 
Karl  Trenham?" 

Her  friend's  eyes  fell  away.  "  Well — of  course 
— to  be  sure,"  he  stammered,  greatly  embarrassed. 
Then,  on  a  sudden,  a  small  saving  ray  of  memory 
found  him.  "  You  said  it  yourself,  my  dear  Mary," 
he  declared,  "  about  God  showing  mercy  to  thous- 
ands that  love  him  and  keep  His  command- 
ments." 

"  I  remember,  and  I  don't  take  back  one  word 
that  I  said.  There  is  always  a  chance,  and  I  truly 
believe  in  God's  promises.  But  you  never  get  over 


210  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  sense  that  it  is  only  a  chance — and  I  can't — 
no,  and  I  won't/'  she  cried  vehemently,  "  have  my 
one  child  take  such  a  risk !  " 

Gaither  hastily  withdrew  from  the  Scriptures. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  as  we  two  were  remarking  a 
few  weeks  ago,  the  possession  of  daughters  is  not 
altogether  conducive  to  tranquillity.  I  am  having 
a  queer  time  at  home  with  one  of  my  girls." 

"  Yes,  poor  Mildred ;  but  of  course,  James,  I'm 
sure  it  is  all  spiteful  gossip — because  Sophie  says 
Karl " 

"  This  is  not  about  Karl,"  Gaither  laughed,  and 
the  sound  made  the  other  look  up  in  amazement. 
"  Quite  a  separate  kettle  of  fish,  I  assure  you.  I 
presume  Chris  has  told  you,  that  his  boyhood 
friend  from  the  mountains,  a  Mr.  Thigpen,  has 
moved  to  Dunrobin?" 

"  No — no,"  Mary  stammered,  bending  forward 
to  stir  up  the  coals.  "  I  haven't  seen  Chris  for  an 
age " 

"  Well,  Thigpen  is  here,"  James  declared  with  a 
smile.  "  And  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  there 
are  going  to  be  fireworks  soon  that  will  make  this 
wild  talk  about  Sophie  seem  a  mere  flash  in  the 
pan. 

"  I  was  with  Chris,"  he  wTent  on,  "  a  few  days 
ago  when  the  two  old  friends  met — the  first  time, 
I  take  it,  since  boyhood.  That  queer  brother-in- 
law  of  mine,  ordinarily  so  placid,  almost  wept,  I 
give  you  my  word,  with  excitement  and  rapture — 


THE  ULTIMATUM  211 

seeing  which  I  could  hardly  do  less  than  invite  Mr. 
Thigpen  to  supper." 

"  To  your  house — to  your  table!  "  gasped  Mary. 
"  What  did  Miss  Ossie  say?  " 

"  The  gods  were  propitious,"  grimaced  James. 
"  Happily  for  us,  my  sister-in-law  had  already  de- 
cided to  keep  to  her  room  for  that  evening.  But 

if  Ossie  had  been  there  at  that  table "  The 

narrator  made  pause  for  a  relishing  chuckle. 

"  To  get  to  the  gist  of  my  story,"  he  continued, 
"  it  seems  that  our  knight  of  the  timbers  was  com- 
pletely bowled  over  by  Mildred.  He  fell  in  love 
at  first  sight,  as  it  were  neck  and  crop,  and  has 
made  up  his  impudent  mind  that  he'll  win  her." 

"  Such  incred-ible  boldness !  A  crude  creature 
like  that  from  the  hills !  What  on  earth  did  you  say 
to  the  fellow,  James?" 

"  There  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  say,"  answered 
Gaither,  with  a  humorous  quirk  of  remembrance. 
"  He  stalked  into  my  office,  his  head  very  nearly 
grazing  the  ceiling — got  the  amorous  load  off  of 
his  chest,  grasped  my  hand  in  a  way  that  has  dis- 
located most  of  the  joints  of  my  fingers,  and  strode 
out  with  his  chin  in  the  air,  leaving  father-in-law 
faint  and  speechless." 

"  It  was  funny,"  Mary  admitted,  with  a  depreca- 
tory laugh,  "  but  I  should  think  you'd  be  /w-rious." 

"  I  suppose  that  I  should,"  said  Gaither,  "  but 
Ossie's  rage,  when  it  comes  to  her  ears,  will  be 
quite  enough  for  one  family.  As  for  me, — I'm  not 


212  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

angry  at  all.  For  Mary — you  see,"  he  explained, 
his  low  pleasant  voice  taking  on  a  tenderer  cadence, 
"  the  young  man  thinks  there  is  a — reason- " 

His  companion's  bright  look  of  encouragement 
urged  him  to  further  confidence. 

"  It  seems,  all  of  his  life  he  has  lived  with  a 
dream — a  clear  vision  of  one  whom  he  loved  and 
could  not  attain,  a  girl  older  than  he,  who  loved' 
and  was  won  by — another." 

"  You  don't  mean  your  Lee-zer? "  Mary  whis- 
pered, "  your  own  gentle  Lee-zer?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded,  and  could  say  no  more  for  an 
instant. 

"  This  does  make  a  difference,"  came  the  hushed, 
vibrant  words  to  his  ear.  "  Dear,  dear  friend — 
I  am  sure  I  shall  love  him ;  to  hold  to  a  memory 
like  this  all  of  his  life  until  now  he  has  met  Lee-zer's 
own  daughter!  It's  a  perfectly  fcecm-ti-ful 
story." 

"  Well— well — well,"  Gaither  sighed,  "  let  us  re- 
turn to  our  naughty  young  black  sheep,  your  head- 
strong girl  and  my  partner.  Ah !  I  believe  I've  got 
it !  "  he  triumphed.  "  What's  the  matter  with  send- 
ing your  young  Juliet  off  to  some  school  for  a 
year?  " 

The  faint  hint  of  hope  in  Mary's  sensitive  face 
died  to  ashes.  "  It's  the  first  thing  I  thought  of. 
Oh,  if  only  she  would  go!  But  she  refuses  even 
to  listen" 

"  It's  the  one  feasible  plan,"  James  repeated. 


THE  ULTIMATUM  213 

"  And  the  girl's  got  to  listen.  On  my  word !  She's 
a  colt  that  needs  breaking.  Shall  I  make  the 
attempt  to  bring  her  to  reason?  " 

"  If  you  choose,"  the  consent  being  given  in  a 
dull,  desolate  tone. 

"  Then  I  should  say  that  the  best  possible  move, 
as  matters  stand  at  the  moment,  is  to  summon  our 
culprits  in  here." 

Mary  started,  but  forced  back  her  quick  words 
of  protest. 

"  As  I  happen  to  be  well  aware,"  the  speaker 
continued,  ignoring  all  signs  of  agitation,  "  Tren- 
ham  is  not  yet  in  a  position  to  marry.  The  business 
is  doing  well,  exceedingly  well,  as  you  know,  but  in 
some  ways  it  is  still  a  venture.  Karl  belongs  to 
the  new  school  of  finance,  and  believes  in  big  plan- 
ning. In  fact,  my  dear  friend,"  he  concluded,  "  I 
could  almost  affirm,  before  speaking  to  him,  that 
you'll  find  he  is  entirely  in  sympathy  with  your 
wish  to  send  Sophie  to  school." 

James  rose,  rather  briskly  for  him,  and  passed 
out  into  the  porch. 

This  time  Trenham  sprang  up.  "  What's  the 
matter?  Are  you  going  now,  Cousin  James? " 
he  asked  in  his  usual  frank,  offhand  way  of  speak- 
ing. "  I  was  just  getting  ready  to  start." 

"  No,  you  weren't,  you  big  story ;  and  you  know 
it !  "  an  invisible  Sophie  cried  out.  "  You  always 
stay  a  lot  later  than  this." 

"  No,  Karl,  I'm  not  leaving  just  yet,"  Gaither 


214  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

said,  without  noticing  his  companion.  "  Mrs.  Hal- 
lonquist  and  I  want  you  young  people  to  come 
indoors  for  a  moment." 

"Will  I  go?  You  watch  me,"  Trenham  ex- 
claimed. "  I've  tried  for  three  days  to  get  a  word 
with  her.  Here,  kid,  what  are  you  doing?  "  he 
laughed,  as  he  felt  a  sudden  weight  on  his  arm. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  see  Mother?  " 

"  No,  she's  been  too  unkind ;  and  I  don't  intend 
to  go  inside.  They've  been  cooking  up  something 
in  there.  I  don't  want  you  to  hear  it,"  the  girl 
said,  striving  hard  to  drag  her  lover  back  to  the 
shadows. 

"  Really,  Sophie !  "  Mr.  Gaither  began,  but  Karl 
smiled  broadly.  "  Don't  you  worry,  I'll  bring  her. 
Now,  young  lady,  you  come  with  me," 

As  the  three  entered  Mrs.  Hallonquist  had  never 
appeared  more  composed  or  more  patrician.  She 
looked  straight  at  Karl. 

"  Good-evening,"  a  steady  voice  greeted  him, 
while  a  small  hand  was  extended  unusually  far 
from  its  base.  "  I  appreciate  your  prompt  acquies- 
cence, Mr.  Trenham.  Mr.  Gaither,  your  cousin, 
will  act  as  my  spokesman.  You  will  kindly  listen 
to  him." 

"  No,  Karl,  don't  you  do  it ! "  came  from  some- 
where behind. 

After  the  farce  of  a  handshake,  Trenham  had 
slowly  withdrawn  to  the  mantel,  and  with  one 
elbow  on  the  end  of  the  shelf  fell  thoughtful  and 


THE  ULTIMATUM  215 

silent.  Further  back,  Sophie  stood  erect,  watchful 
and  rigid. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  James  essayed  to  begin,  and 
unconsciously  took  his  place  beside  his  hostess, 
"it  seems  you  have  played  the  dark  role  of  the 
serpent  in  Eden.  You  have  caused  Mrs.  Hallon- 
quist here " 

"  I've  never  wished  or  intended  to  cause  Sophie's 
mother  a  moment  of  worry,"  Karl  broke  in. 
"  Neither  Sophie  nor  I  have  done  anything  we  are 
ashamed  of.  If  Mrs.  Hallonquist  will  let  me  ex- 
plain!" 

"  I  really  can't  see  anything  to  explain,"  Gaither 
smiled.  "  The  apple-cart  is  over.  But  there's  one 
thing  you  can  do,  to  attest  your  sincerity." 

"  What  is  it?  "  Trenham  asked  quickly. 

James  told  hurriedly  of  the  mother's  ultimatum 
— her  insistence  that  Sophie  be  sent  from  Dun- 
robin,  and  Karl — for  the  space  of  a  year. 

The  young  man  listened  with  all  of  the  gravity 
due  the  occasion,  while  Sophie,  her  head  poised 
more  than  ever  like  portraits  of  the  Countess 
Potocka,  flashed  her  great,  brilliant  eyes  from  one 
face  to  another,  gathering  fresh  clouds  of  wrath 
in  each  nervous  flight. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  spokesman  in  conclusion,  "  Mrs. 
Hallonquist  thinks  it's  best  for  all  persons  con- 
cerned." 

"  I  infer  you  are  speaking  of  her  absence  for  a 
year  at  school,"  Trenham  caught  at  his  meaning. 


216  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Gaither  nodded.  With  a  gasp,  Sophie  whirled  to 
the  centre  and  faced  him. 

"  You  are  wasting  your  time.  I  simply  won't 
go.  That's  all  to  be  said.  I'm  no  child !  "  she  cried, 
loosing  a  whippet  of  anger.  "  To  be  talked  over 
like  this,  and  have  my  affairs  settled.  If  you  want 
to  ignore  me,  Karl's  opinion  has  some  weight,  I 
reckon ! " 

Trenham  seemed  not  to  hear.  His  pink  face  had 
grown  sober.  "  Since  you  give  me  a  voice  in  the 
matter,"  he  said,  his  intelligent  eyes  turned  to 
Mary,  "  I  think  it  an  excellent  scheme.  After  all, 
Sophie  is  only  a  schoolgirl.  This  plan  you  propose 
will  stop  gossip.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Hallonquist,"  he 
bowed  gracefully,  "  I  am  more  than  in  accord  with 
your  Wishes." 

For  a  moment,  the  three  had  ignored  a  silent  and 
shivering  Sophie.  She  now  faced  him  who  she 
thought  her  false  lover.  "  You  agree! "  she  got 
out,  on  the  first  difficult  breath  of  her  fury.  "  You 
want  me  to  be  driven  far  off  for  a  year  where  you 
never  can  see  me!  Oh,  Karl — and  you  said  just 
tonight,  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  that  you  couldn't 
bear  me  out  of  your  sight ! " 

Karl  looked  decidedly  sheepish.  "  I  meant  it  too, 
Sophie,"  he  smiled  down  to  her  tragic  young  face. 
"  I  really  am  crazy  about  you,  but  the  truth  is, 
you  are  only  a  kid  and  belong  to  your  mother. 
Since  she  thinks  it  is  best,  why " 

"  Hush, — not  one  other  word !  "  the  girl  said, 


THE  ULTIMATUM  217 

in  a  tone  of  such  crushed  vibrant  passion,  that 
Mary  put  up  a  white  tremulous  hand  to  her  eyes. 
"  If  you  want  to  be  rid  of  me — that  ends  it.  You 
have  won — all  three  of  you,"  her  glance  swept  cold 
scorn  through  the  room.  "  You  all  have  been 
heartless  and  cruel,  and  I'll  never  forgive  you  on 
earth !  " 

She  tore  from  them  in  a  whirlwind.  Mary 
turned  her  sad  face  toward  the  door,  which  still 
shook  from  the  violent  slam  the  enraged  one  had 
given  it. 

"  Mary,  Mary,"  Gaither  warned,  stepping  closer, 
"  as  she  says,  we  have  won.  Karl  has  stood  by  us 
finely.  Don't  you  turn  chicken-hearted  and  spoil 
our  victory." 

"  I ! "  cried  the  mother,  her  head  very  high. 
"  You  must  think  me  weak  and  poor-spirited.  I'm 
too  thankful  for  things  as  they  are.  And,  Mr. 
Trenham,"  she  went  on  in  the  same  well-poised 
manner,  "  I  am  sincerely  indebted  to  you." 

The  little  throat  crumpled.  One  hand  was  flung 
out  into  space. 

"  James — I'm  falling,"  she  whispered.  "  I'm  ill. 
Call  Tempey — I  must  get  to  my  room." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    RECONCILIATION 

MRS.  HALLONQUIST'S  fainting  attack  was 
not  long,  but  while  it  endured  her  daughter 
was  terribly  frightened.  The  long,  inky 
burden  that  Tempey  bore  to  the  bed  had  the  hor- 
rible silence  of  death. 

The  old  servant  went  promptly  about  her  task 
of  restoration,  using  potent  if  old-fashioned 
methods,  and  once  more  proved  her  claim  to  the 
title  of  "  the  best  sick-nurse  in  Dunrobin." 

With  Mary  disrobed  and  arrayed  in  a  fresh, 
snowy  night-dress,  her  blue  eyes  half  opened,  and 
a  delicate  colour  again  in  her  cheeks,  the  triumph- 
ant attendant  motioned  Sophie  aside. 

"  They  ain't  nothin'  to  fret  about,  honey,"  she 
whispered.  "  Yo'  Ma  is  all  right.  What  she  needs 
now  is  jes'  beirf  quiet." 

"  But, — Mammy — wrhat  was  it?  "  a  whisper  came 
back,  through  lips  still  pallid  and  trembling. 
"  She  looks  awfully  bad  to  me  yet." 

"  Don't  you  b'leeve  it,"  said  Tempey.  "  Hit  was 
only  a  spell  of  de  tantrums.  I  has  'em  myse'f,  an' 
I  knows." 

In  the  sudden  reaction  from  honest  alarm,  the 

218 


THE  RECONCILIATION  219 

girl  felt  a  renewed  irritation.  So  her  mother  was 
trying  to  work  on  her  pity!  Well,  Mother  should 
see! 

During  the  first  afternoon  of  the  mistress'  with- 
drawal from  domestic  affairs,  Karl  arrived,  only  to 
be  ignominiously  shooed  away  by  the  irate  old 
nurse. 

"  No,  Miss  Hallonquist,  she  ain't  at  home.  She 
ain't  nowhar  erbout — she  done  sed  so  jes'  now," 
the  black  fate  repelled  him.  "  My  po'  chile  she 
ain't  seein'  no  vis'ters  at  all,  she's  that  awful  tore 
up  in  her  feelin's.  Me  an  her,  we  is  packin'  to  go 
off  to  school.  You  knows  why,  well  ernuff !  "  she 
concluded  dramatically,  and  slammed  the  front 
door  in  his  face. 

Karl  waited  until  after  the  hour  for  the  Hallon- 
quist supper,  and  then  reappeared. 

This  time,  as  Tempey  confronted  him,  he  smiled 
in  his  most  ingratiating  manner,  and,  half  un- 
closing his  right  hand,  showed  her  the  gleam  of  a 
bright  silver  dollar. 

"  Now  look  here,  Aunt  Tempey,  we're  friends, 
you  and  I,"  he  began  with  a  smile  that  had  won 
him  hosts  of  feminine  admirers.  "  And,  if 
only " 

"  Don't  you  projec'  roun'  me,  wid  yo'  talk 
erbout  frien's  an'  yo'  teef  all  a-shinin'  in  rows  lak 
an  open  pianner ! "  came  forth  as  a  blow  on  the 
chest.  "An'  what's  mo' — you  is  wastin'  yo'  time 
wid  you  standin'  dare  slantin'  yo'  ole  pewter  dollar 


220  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

wid  a  hawk  on  one  side  in  my  eye.  You  don't  see 
my  baby  no  mo',  tell  she  says  she's  good  an'  ready 
to  see  you." 

Again  the  door  crashed  within  a  few  inches  of 
young  Lochinvar's  nose,  and  he  turned  away  curs- 
ing,  yet  smiling. 

The  following  morning  a  note  and  a  big  box  of 
chocolates  and  bon-bons  were  sent  up  from  the 
drug  store  by  Karl. 

"  Here, — you  jes'  hoi'  yo'  horses,  you  long- 
laigged  nigger,"  Tempey  called  out  to  the  bearer, 
"  an'  don't  you  dare  drap  dat  trash  you  is  totin', 
an'  run  lak  I  sees  you  is  fixin'  to  do.  You  wait  till 
I  axes  de  lady  ef  she's  willin'  to  take  what  you's 
brung  her." 

The  young  lady  most  decidedly  was  not,  and  the 
grinning  mulatto  returned  with  both  tokens  of  lore 
unopened. 

Trenham,  though  greatly  chagrined,  felt  his 
ardour  increase  as  his  spirited  sweetheart  continued 
to  flout  and  repel  him. 

When  three  days  had  gone,  and  the  girl  showed 
no  signs  of  relenting,  the  young  man  bent  every 
power  of  his  quick,  practical  mind  to  the  task  of 
retrieving  his  lost  position  with  Sophie. 

The  cunning  device  which  he  decided  at  last  to 
try  was  that  of  sending  a  false  wire  to  the  cot- 
tage, designed  to  deceive;  it  was  written  out  in 
Karl's  hand  in  the  telegraph  office  downtown,  and 
despatched  by  a  bribed  and  accredited  messenger. 


THE  RECONCILIATION  221 

Sophie,  believing  it  from  the  school  to  which 
she  was  going — this  being  exactly  what  Karl  had 
hoped  she  would  think — tore  open  and  read: 

"  This  Monday  evening  at  five  I  shall  be  on  the 
long  road  from  the  shot  tower,  at  the  corner  of  a 
certain  small  corn  patch,  beside  the  rail  fence.  I  will 
wait  fifteen  minutes.  If  you  are  not  there  by  that 
time,  I'll  turn  back  on  the  road,  and  come  into  the 
town  by  a  different  way.  If  you  don't  come  at  all, 
I  will  take  it  to  mean  that  our  friendship  and  all 
we  have  planned  for  the  future  are  over,  and  I  shall 
never  willingly  see  you  again. 

Yours, 

KARL." 

Sophie  went. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SOPHIE'S  DEPARTURE 

NOT  risking  delay  by  an  instant,  Sophie  left 
home  a  little  past  four  o'clock.  With  her 
buoyant  and  vigorous  walking,  the  journey 
need  take  her  at  most  a  scant  half  hour. 

Karl  was  waiting,  and  in  his  arms  all  of  her 
pride  and  resentment  melted  away  in  a  torrential 
freshet  of  tears.  In  a  quivering  ecstasy  of  recon- 
cilation,  she  became  timid,  pleading,  almost  hum- 
ble; and  when  her  lover  gently  explained  why  he 
felt  that  her  going  to  school  was  a  thing  to  be  done 
she  no  longer  opposed  him. 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  sobbed. 
"  And  I'll  try  to  be  patient  and  good.  I  know  I've 
been  horrid  to  Mother — but,  Karl,  it  was  you — 
only  you! — and  the  calm  way  you  agreed,  when 
Uncle  James  said  I  should  be  sent  so  far  off,  that 
broke  my  heart." 

"  Poor,  untried  little  heart,"  soothed  the  man, 
half  teasingly,  and  yet  with  a  touch  of  the  real. 
"  If  I'm  never  to  make  it  bear  worse  trials  than  this, 
we'll  be  lucky." 

"  Nothing  could  be  much  worse,"  Sophie  wept. 
"  A  year — a  whole  black,  endless  year — and  never 

222 


SOPHIE'S  DEPARTURE  223 

to  see  you!  Why,  Karl,  don't  it  make  you  feel 
awful?" 

"  No.  By  Jingo !  what's  twelve  months,  after  all? 
It  will  go  before  we're  sure  it  has  got  here,  and 
then — after  that — comes  a  whole  jolly  lifetime 
together.  So  look  up,  little  precious,  and  smile  at 
your  Karl,  and  then  we'll  go  back  to  Mother." 

Sophie  strove  to  obey,  and,  in  striving,  appeared 
so  entirely  bewitching  that  the  man  caught  her 
passionately  in  his  arms,  straining  her  tightly 
against  him,  and  kissed  her  tear-wet  lips,  as  though 
he  could  never  be  satiated  with  their  tremulous 
sweetness. 

"  There!  "  he  cried,  holding  lifer  off,  with  a  tender 
and  masterful  laugh,  to  see  how  she  struggled  for 
breath.  "  All  the  years  in  the  world  can't  cool  such 
kisses.  And  we're  young,  my  beloved!  Think  of 
all  the  rapture  before  us ! " 

By  Wednesday  the  arrangements  for  Sophie's 
rather  untimely  attendance  at  school  were  entirely 
complete,  and  when  the  hour  of  departure  arrived, 
Karl  drove  up  to  the  house,  in  what  Sophie  hysteri- 
cally called  a  "  funeral  coach,"  lacking  nothing 
but  cr£pe  on  the  shabby  whip-handle,  and  con- 
veyed the  two  ladies  to  town. 

Tempey  and  Grief  had  started  an  hour  earlier, 
for  the  old  man's  bent  legs  did  not  carry  him 
swiftly. 

At  Dunrobin's  one  "  day-po "  a  concourse  of 
friends  and  near-relatives  were  already  assembled 


224  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

as  Chris  plunged  along  the  wooden  platform  toward 
the  just-stopping  carriage,  with  Alonzo  a  few  paces 
behind.  The  two  friends  had  rather  the  aspect  of 
an  intensely  pleased  showman  convoying  a  hand- 
some and  amiable  bear. 

Mary  Hallonquist  felt  Chris's  coming,  even  be- 
fore the  big  genial  voice  boomed  out  over  Dun- 
robin's  early  spring  hats. 

"  Howdy — howdy,  Miss  Mary.  Hey,  you-all  over 
there  by  the  carriage,  hold  on  a  minute.  I'm  a- 
bringin'  'Lonzo  to  show  you." 

Mary  had  no  eyes  for  Alonzo.  She  was  staring 
at  Chris.  Her  face,  always  subtly  imbued  with  the 
expression  artists  give  their  madonnas,  held  the 
rapt,  upward  gaze  of  a  saint — but  a  saint  dolorosa. 

Chris  had  never  appeared  more  carefree,  more 
entirely  content.  His  eyes  were  grey,  sunken  stars 
of  excitement;  and  his  smile  like  a  shaft  of  pink 
sunlight  on  rock. 

Mrs.  Hallonquist  did  not  at  all  realize  that  dur- 
ing this  almost  hypnotic  preoccupation,  Karl  had 
assisted  her  down  from  the  carriage,  and  that  she 
now  stood  at  the  edre  of  a  throng  which  parted 
in  the  long  fissure  of  a  composite  smile.  They  were 
making  way  for  the  towering  mountaineers  who, 
reaching  her,  came  to  a  pause,  and  stood  hanging 
above  her  like  cliffs. 

"This  is  'Lonzo,"  said  Chris,  in  the  voice  a 
devout  early  Christian  might  have  used  in  declar- 
ing, "  This  is  Peter."  "  He's  my  very  best  friend. 


SOPHIE'S  DEPARTURE  225 

Step  up,  'Lonzo,  make  your  best  scrape,  and  bow 
to  Miss  Mary." 

"  I'm  most  happy  to  meet  Mr.  Thigpen,"  Mary 
murmured,  extending  a  delicate,  gloved  hand,  where 
the  tip  of  one  finger  showed  pink  through  a  place 
needing  darning.  "  In  fact,"  she  affirmed,  in  a 
slightly  raised  tone,  her  head  tilted  back  till  the 
blue,  praying  eyes  could  meet  those  of  Alonzo, 
"  I  feel  that  I  know  you  already — Chris  has  talked 
of  you  so  very  much." 

'Lonzo  smiled  and  bowed  as  instructed.  "  He  is 
talked  both  my  years  stiff  'bout  you,"  the  mountain- 
eer gallantly  tossed  back  the  ball  of  complai- 
sance. 

"  You  must  make  Mr.  Laird  bring  you  to  call 
on  me  soon,"  Mary  continued,  without  daring  to 
meet  Chris's  direct  gaze. 

"  We  are  aiming  to  drop  in  tonight,"  Chris  ob- 
served, though  no  one  had  asked  him. 

'Lonzo  bowed  again.  "  I'll  be  proud  to  be  tooken, 
Miss  Mary.  You  see,"  he  smiled,  speaking  with  a 
hint  of  unusual  shyness,  "  I'm  plumb  druv'  for  to 
call  you  '  Miss  Mary '  since  this  old  ostrich  here 
with  his  head  amongst  the  beetles  ain't  never  once 
named  me  your  other." 

"  Yes — please  call  me  l\Jiss  Mary,"  that  sweet 
person  fluttered.  "  I  like  it — from  you,  Mr.  Thig- 
pen. Do  you  promise?  " 

"  You  can  count  on  me  now  and  forever,  Miss 
Mary." 


226  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

The  train  was  heard  coming.  All  activities  be- 
gan to  centre  about  the  young  person  so  soon  to 
depart. 

Tempey,  raising  her  head,  beat  about  at  the  edge 
of  the  crowd  like  a  troubled  balloon  broken  off  from 
its  string,  and  bumping  the  ceiling.  After  a  mo- 
ment, some  understanding  white  friend  gave  the 
old  servant  entrance,  whereupon  she  rushed  for 
the  half -bewildered  Sophie,  crying  out  through  her 
tears,  "  Oh,  my  baby — Mammy's  baby !  Dey  is 
gwine  take  my  baby  away !  " 

Old  Grief,  checked  midway  in  the  throng,  worked 
his  shuffling  steps  nearer  Mary,  and  afterward  kept 
to  the  spot,  his  bleared,  faithful  eyes  not  once  leav- 
ing her. 

Miss  Finger,  with  a  few  sprigs  of  rosemary  (for 
remembrance,  my  dear)  clutched  in  one  cotton 
glove,  a  novel — "  The  Wooing  O't "  in  the  other 
hand,  drove  the  thin  wedge  of  herself  toward  the 
traveller,  extending  her  gifts. 

Sophie  thanked  her,  and  took  what  she  did  not 
perceive,  for,  to  her  own  tremulous  wonder,  a  sob 
in  her  throat  had  distended  the  satiny  surface  and 
her  eyes  were  blinded  by  tears. 

She  looked  about  wildly — not  for  Letty,  nor  for 
Karl — but  for  one  slender  woman  who  stood  with 
a  hand  pressing  hard  to  her  breast.  Sobbing  loudly, 
the  girl  groped  her  way  toward  Mary. 

"  Mother — Mo-ther !  I  just  cannot  leave  you ! 
I  shall  die !  I  nev-nev-never  dreamed  it  would  be  so 


SOPHIE'S  DEPARTURE  227 

ferocious!  Oh,  hold  me — put  your  arms  tight 
around  me.  I  can't  get  on  that  train." 

Karl  practically  carried  his  sweetheart  up  the 
steps  of  the  Pullman,  while  the  mother,  her  arms 
still  hot  and  vital  with  that  last  agonized  clasp, 
watched  the  scene  with  a  face  like  one  cut  in 
chalk. 

"Now,  Miss  Mary,"  warned  Chris  in  a  whisper, 
"  it  ain't  no  good  fainting — the  train's  starting. 
All  the  folks  is  a-gazing  toward  you." 

Mary  lifted  her  head.  "  Thank  you,  Chris,  I'll 
remember." 

"  There,  she's  waving,"  cried  the  mountaineer  in 
wild  excitement.  "  She's  waving,  Miss  Mary. 
She's  stuck  through  the  window  plumb  on  her 
stomach.  Gorry-midey !  "  he  puffed,  "  I  sure  hope 
that  black  man  what  I  tipped  half  a  dollar  is  got 
a  tight  hold  on  the  end  we  can't  see!  What's  the 
matter  you  ain't  waving  back  to  your  daughter?  " 
he  demanded  indignantly.  "  Oh,  I  see,  your  hand- 
kerchief is  dripping.  Here,  take  mine.  Golly- 
marster!  it  never  is  there  when  I  want  it!  Here 
you,  'Lonzo !  "  Then  springing  toward  that  amazed 
person,  Chris  began  frantically  clawing  in 
Alonzo's  vest  pockets. 

Thigpen  gave  a  quick  cry  and  swerved  nimbly. 
"  Stop ;  you  tickles !  What  in  God's  name  are  you 
grabblin'  me  for,  before  all  these  peoples?  " 

"  Handkerchief,  quick,  before  she  gets  out  of 
sight !  "  Chris  implored  him. 


228  CHKISTOPHER  LAIRD 

In  one  long  flash  of  red,  'Lonzo  drew  from  his 
hip  a  large  cloth  that  might  cover  a  table. 

"  Here,  Miss  Mary — wave  now — wave  like  hell !  " 
Chris  encouraged,  lifting  one  of  the  woman's  flac- 
cid hands,  and  inserting  a  corner  of  the  handker- 
chief. "  There,  she  sees  you !  She's  waving  back 
hard.  I  do  hope,"  he  once  more  muttered,  "  that 
that  black  porter-man  is  attending  to  business." 

Suddenly  'Lonzo  bent  down  to  Chris's  ear. 
"  Lookout  there,  your  Miss  Mary  is  blanching,  and 
I  think  that  off  leg's  giving  way.  Air  you  ready  to 
grab  her?  " 

Chris  threw  a  dark  look,  the  darkest  he  had  ever 
turned  on  Alonzo.  "  Here,  you  crawl  in  your  own 
shell,  old  gopher.  I  can  look  after  Miss  Mary. 
Milly's  waiting  out  there  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd 
for  to  see  you.  I've  looked  after  Miss  Mary  some 
years  before  you  came  to  Dunrobin,  and  I'm  aiming 
to  keep  up  the  practice.  Farewell,  don't  you  fret 
none  about  Miss  Mary." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    HURRYING    YEAR 

A~5D  now  Sophie  was  actually  gone.  For 
the  round  of  the  four  changing  seasons,  the 
place  of  her  birth  was  to  see  and  to  hear  her 
no  more.  The  meticulous,  self-absorbed,  and 
absorbing  routine  of  the  village  closed  in,  as  elastic 
blue  ether  in  the  wake  of  one  vanishing  swallow. 

The  allotted  "  nine  days "  for  the  wonder  of 
Sophie  and  KarFs  engagement  had  not  more  than 
half  been  attained,  when  it  was  promptly  forgotten 
in  a  new  and  more  imminent  romance,  that  ot 
Alonzo  Thigpen  and  Mildred  Gaither. 

There  were  strange  fragments  of  gossip  that 
went  darting  about,  to  tell  of  Miss  Ossie  Laird's 
hot  anger  against  such  a  flinging  away  of  her 
lovely  niece  on  that  "  gleamin'-eyed,  long-bodied 
catamount  down  from  the  mountains." 

Mr.  Thigpen,  the  same  rumour  said,  presented  an 
armour  of  smiles  and  impervious  good-nature  to  the 
fierce  lady's  verbal  assaults;  while  Mildred,  torn 
between  the  tempestuous  will  of  her  aunt,  and  a 
swift-growing  pride  in  her  picturesque  lover,  had 
about  given  up,  and  decided  to  be  ill  in  bed,  till 
the  storm  had  calmed  down. 

229 


230  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

<\ 

'Lonzo's  wooing,  and  its  success,  were  for  Chris 
an  obsession.  He  thought,  dreamed,  connived  for, 
and  discoursed  of  naught  else.  It  was  as  if,  by  his 
fervour,  he  determined  to  cancel  the  effect  of  his 
sister's  unmeasured  hostility. 

The  hurrying  year  passed  along,  and  in  the  mid- 
dle of  February,  about  three  weeks  before  Sophie's 
scheduled  arrival,  Mildred  Gaither  was  married 
to  'Lonzo. 

What  magic  of  pleading  the  young  bride-elect  had 
been  inspired  to  bestow  upon  her  aunt,  the  curious 
world  of  Dunrobin  was  never  to  puzzle  out.  The 
result  was  sufficient,  for,  there  at  the  wedding, 
in  the  very  front  pew,  stiff  and  upright,  and  rust- 
ling with  silk  like  a  corn-patch  in  winter,  Ossie 
sat  when  the  church-doors  were  opened,  her  eyes 
dry  and  hard  as  grey  stone. 

This  sight  brought  the  first  nervous,  intimate 
thrill  to  a  gathering  already  expectant. 

Next  in  general  surmise  was  the  whispered  con- 
jecture, "  How  do  you  suppose  that  wild  mountain- 
eer is  going  to  act  when  the  service  begins?  " 

For  those  curious  and  slightly  malicious  ob- 
servers who  hoped  to  enjoy  some  spectacular  crude- 
ness  chagrin  was  in  store. 

Alonzo,  content  and  serene — upheld  on  the  tide 
of  his  rapture — had  eyes  that  were  fastened  on 
Milly  as  steel  to  its  compelling  pole.  The  girl 
had  never  before  looked  so  lovely.  It  was  radiant 


THE  HURRYING  YEAR  231 

joy,  not  a  mere  flower-like  face,  that  the  white  cloud 
of  veiling  revealed. 

So  much  for  the  bridegroom  Alonzo — but  alas 
for  his  "  best  man  " — poor  Chris ! 

There  was  no  tide  of  rapture  to  bear  him  along 
on  its  surface.  His  huge  clumsy  frame,  enclosed 
for  the  occasion  in  a  sombre  Prince  Albert,  seemed 
the  person  of  somebody  else.  The  long  fuzzy  tails 
were  eternally  flapping  about,  and  demanding  a 
constant  jerk  and  clutch  to  assure  him  they  were 
still  attached  and  not  escaping.  In  the  left  lapel 
of  his  coat  a  gardenia  had  been  thrust — a  bloom 
unfamiliar  to  Chris, — with  a  strong  perfume 
which  made  him  quite  ill.  Worse  than  this,  he'd 
been  told  by  at  least  five  different  persons  that  on 
no  account  must  he  touch  it,  or  its  delicate  petals 
would  blacken. 

All  day  long,  this  bewildered  and  prodded  large 
man,  was  flung  from  one  task  to  another,  until  now, 
by  evening,  though  the  wind  had  grown  chill,  his 
face  was  purple  and  lacquered  with  moisture. 

As  Alonzo  and  his  best  man  stepped  forth,  Chris 
felt  fully  convinced  that  the  eyes  of  the  entire 
congregation  were  fixed  on  his  waistcoat  alone. 
He  knew  that  one  button  was  straining  hard — and 
with  his  last  agonized  heaving  of  resignation — he 
felt  that  it  burst  from  its  moorings.  In  the  light 
of  this  knowledge,  he  held  in  his  breath  and  his 
contours  till  his  face  grew  the  colour  of  a  beet. 

As  the  wedding  party  again  faced  the  congrega- 


232  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

tion,  and  a  head-hung  and  exquisite  Mildred  made 
her  way  out  on  her  tall  husband's  arm,  she  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  Miss  Ossie.  Breaking  away  from 
Alonzo,  she  ran,  in  the  sight  of  all  eyes,  to  fling 
-snow-white  arms  around  the  thin  rigid  figure. 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  blessed  Auntie,"  she  whispered, 
while  tears  of  sheer  joy  fell  on  rustling  silk,  "  don't 
think  I  don't  realize  what  this  coming  has  meant  to 
you,  dearest.  I  shall  never  forget  it  on  earth. 
You're  my  own  precious  mother,  and  I  don't  care 
one  bit  what  you  think  of  my  husband — I'll  love  you 
exactly  the  same." 

The  small  church  which  had  seemed  so  enormous 
to  Chris  was  gradually  emptied.  The  echo  of 
Toices  floated  out  the  front  door,  like  the  trail  of  a 
thin  perfumed  scarf.  The  warmth  and  the  colour 
had  slowly  receded,  and  the  space  was  deserted  ex- 
cept for  one  stiff  upright  figure.  All  at  once  the 
scrawny  neck  bent,  and  the  new  hat  went  down  to 
the  railing. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   LONELY    HEARTH 

MARCH  blew  in;  and  the  date  Mary  dreaded 
— the  old  date  of  the  Hallonquist  fire — was 
well  in  the  past.  Three  days  more,  and 
Sophie  would  reach  her. 

Mary  often  wondered  where  the  young  people 
would  live  after  the  wedding.  Not  once  had  Karl 
given  a  hint  as  to  his  plans  for  the  future.  Partly 
due — it  may  be — to  this  silence  on  Trenham's  part, 
Mrs.  Hallonquist  came  to  believe  that  Karl  was 
possessed  of  the  same  sort  of  manly  and  un- 
chartered  largeness  as  'Lonzo.  For  it  seems  that 
when  James  Gaither  suggested  that  Milly  and  her 
husband  spend  their  first  year  in  the  old  home,  the 
mountaineer  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Mr.  Gaither,"  he  replied  when  faced  with 
the  question.  "  We  both  thanks  you  kindly.  But 
Milly  an'  me  we's  talked  it  all  over  together,  and 
we  would  rather  have — me  an'  Milly — "  here  his 
flaming  dark  eyes  sent  a  passionate  message  of  love 
to  the  girl  on  his  arm,  "  a  small  coop  of  our  own, 
even  if  it's  just  one  room  an'  a  washtub." 

Letty,  who  sometimes  ran  in  to  cheer  up  Sophie's 
mother,  had  recounted  this  scene  of  prenuptial  ar- 

233 


234  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

rangements.  Mary  speculated  as  to  why  the  trivial 
story  produced  an  effect  so  warm  and  comforting. 

"  Yes,"  she  mused,  when  Letty  had  gone,  "  it  is 
what  every  woman  should  have;  and  if  there  is 
no  'Lonzo  to  give  it,  then  she  ought  to  secure  the 
'  small  coop  '  herself." 

The  blue,  gentle  eyes  drifted  happily  around  to 
her  walls  and  to  their  hangings,  to  dear  posses- 
sions that  had  been  all  her  very  own  during  the 
year  just  past.  Each  picture  hung  just  as  her 
fingers  had  left  it. 

"  Milly's  husband  is  right,"  she  softly  repeated. 
"A  home  all  her  own  is  due  to  each  woman.  It 
gives  us  self-respect  and  an  unfailing  interest  that 
no  other  material  values  can  give.  Yet — I  do 
hope,"  she  smiled  in  the  twilight,  "that  Karl 
won't  choose  a  place  too  far  off  from  this  cottage 
of  mine." 

Trenham  drove  the  girl  up  in  the  same  musty 
"  funeral  coach  "  which  twelve  months  before  had 
driven  the  three  to  the  train. 

Mrs.  Hallonquist  stood  in  the  sunshine  to  wel- 
come the  traveller.  The  meeting  threatened  to  be 
slightly  formal,  until  Sophie  suddenly  rushed  back 
for  a  second  embrace,  crying,  "  Mother — poor  little 
Mother!  I  can  see  by  your  face  how  you've  suf- 
fered in  having  me  gone  this  whole  year.  Your 
hair  is  right  grey  at  the  temples — and  somehow  you 
look  so  much  older.  But  to  me  you  seem  sweeter 
than  ever." 


THE  LONELY  HEARTH  235 

The  need  for  beginning  Sophie's  autumn  trous- 
seau was  in  Mary's  heart  and  conscience,  therefore 
the  delighted  Miss  Pearlie  Perky  was  retained  for 
two  days  in  each  week  to  fashion  the  wedding 
garments,  for  the  ceremony  scheduled  for  a  Wed- 
nesday in  November. 

Midsummer  passed  into  autumn.  Early  mists 
hung  like  dreams  over  Dunrobin,  disappearing 
with  the  gold  of  each  day,  and  returning  with  the 
whisper  of  nightfall. 

As  yet  no  plans  for  the  young  couple's  abode 
after  marriage  had  been  hinted  to  Mary.  This 
intentional  avoidance  of  the  subject,  as  it  now 
began  to  appear,  greatly  troubled  the  mother.  It 
made  her  both  restless  and  anxious. 

Surely  her  part  was  nearly  over.  She  had  given 
consent  after  agonized  struggles  to  the  marriage 
itself ;  she  was  spending  her  all  on  heaps  of  clothes 
for  her  daughter,  and  the  showy  church-wedding 
that  Karl  and  Sophie  both  urged.  Her  reward — 
there  was  no  use  to  hide  it — was  to  return  to  peace 
and  complete  possession  of  her  cottage,  to  a 
personal  fireside. 

Karl  Trenham  arrived  one  night  about  eight 
o'clock  to  spend  the  evening  as  usual  with  Sophie. 
As  usual  also,  Mrs.  Hallonquist,  after  a  few  pleas- 
ant, unmeaning  remarks,  excused  herself,  and  with- 
drew to  her  room  with  a  book. 

The  novel  proved  far  from  engrossing.  Through 
its  rather  dull  pages  Mary  heard  from  across  the 


236  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

hall  the  sound  of  gay  voices.  Now  Karl  laughed 
aloud.  The  listener  shrank.  She  had  never  liked 
Trenham's  laughter.  Then  the  silvery  cadence  of 
Sophie's  answering  mirth  sent  fresh  joy  through 
the  echoes.  Next  came  the  bang  of  doors  flung 
apart. 

In  a  moment  more — forgetting  her  mother's  in- 
junction to  knock  before  entering,  Sophie  rushed 
into  the  room,  and  threw  herself  down  on  her 
knees  beside  the  reader. 

"  It's  all  settled ! "  she  cried,  her  eyes  bright 
with  excitement.  "And  I  know  you'll  die  with 
delight — for  we're  going  to  live  with  you.  Karl 
decided !  He  is  not  willing  I  should  leave  you 
alone,  Mother  dear,  and  he  thinks  it  best  for  his 
business  not  to  put  any  money  into  a  house  just 
at  first.  But  he's  going  to  build  us  a  bath,  and  a 
big  dressing-closet  off  the  trunk-room.  Oh,  isn't 
it  too  delicious !  " 

Mary  Hallonquist  said  not  a  word.  At  her 
silence,  and  a  quick  nervous  start  that  was  fol- 
lowed by  instant  rigidity,  Sophie  drew  back  a  little. 

"Why,  Mother!  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 
she  exclaimed.  "  You're  turning  as  white  as  a 
sheet!  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  the  good 
news  so  abruptly,  I  know  you're  not  as  young 
as  you  were,  poor  dear  little  Mother.  But  Karl 
says  you'll  grow  young  and  happy  again  when  we 
come  here  to  live,  and  you  see  us  so  utterly  blissful. 
Karlie  says  it's  high  time  anyway  that  I  learned 


THE  LONELY  HEARTH  237 

to  keep  house,  so  after  I'm  a  settled  old  married 
lady  yon  must  just  lean  back  in  your  chair,  and  I 
shall  run  everything.  There — the  colour  is  trying 
to  come  again,  and  your  eyes  are  looking  more 
natural.  Kiss  me,  dear  little  Mother,  for  I  must 
hurry.  That  absurd  boy  he  nearly  goes  mad  if  I 
stay  out  of  the  room  for  five  minutes.  Good-night, 
and  the  sweetest  of  dreams  to  the  sweetest  of 
mothers." 

She  ran  from  the  room,  joy  and  youth  flying  with 
her  like  banners. 

Mary  put  down  her  book,  then  rose  very  slowly. 
She  crossed  to  a  window  and  ran  the  shade  high, 
looking  upward,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  once 
again  drifting  clouds  and  the  crest  of  tall  tree- 
tops.  But  all  she  now  faced  was  new  darkness. 

The  shade  was  pulled  down  by  a  hand  that  moved 
stiffly,  in  jerks,  as  if  it  belonged  to  a  manikin. 
She  retraced  her  slow  steps  by  the  same  awkward 
inches,  until  striking  the  side  of  her  bed  she  came 
to  a  shivering  pause  and  there  sank  to  a  heap  of 
inertia.  One  arm  was  flung  over  the  covers,  the 
other  trailed  down  in  a  curve  to  the  floor.  Her 
bowed  head  hung  between  them. 

"  Must  I  drink  this  cup  too? "  she  was  moan- 
ing, though  her  white  lips  were  dumb.  "  Will  life 
leave  me  nothing  at  all?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A    WEDDING   AND    A    JOURNEY 


A  FULL  page  of  Dunrobin's  Daily  Democrat 
was  given  over  to  an  account  of  the  Tren- 
ham-Hallonquist  wedding.  The  romantic 
Miss  Sally  Finger,  who  was  known  at  times  to  dip 
into  Journalism  had  been  given  the  congenial  task 
of  "  covering  "  the  iridescent  function. 

It  is  but  just  to  state  that  not  only  was  the 
"  covering "  achieved,  but  that  it  ran  molten  in 
eulogy.  The  columns  reeled  with  laudatory  ad- 
jectives and  bristled  with  exclamation  points. 

The  fair  bride  blushed — on  paper,  not  in  fact. 
Fidgety,  conventional  Aunt  Baring  frowned  to  see 
with  what  a  free  step  and  roving  eye  the  newly- 
made  Mrs.  Trenham  swept  down  the  aisle  on  her 
beaming  husband's  arm. 

The  young  girl's  orange-blossoms  were  held  high 
indeed ;  and  why  not,  since  she  was  now  married  to 
the  one  man  in  the  world  for  her?  According  to 
Sophie's  code,  the  opinions  of  outsiders  were  of 
less  concern  than  the  broken  flowers  upon  which 
she  was  then  treading. 

Since  the  affair  had  been,  to  quote  Miss  Sally's 

238 


A  WEDDING  AND  A  JOURNEY       239 

phrasing,  "  an  event  in  the  creme  de  la  creme  of 
fashion,"  it  took  place  at  eight  o'clock  p.  m. 

The  crowded  church  display  was  followed  by  a 
reception  at  the  bride's  home,  after  which,  "  close 
on  the  mystic  hour  of  midnight,"  again  adopting 
the  words  of  the  reporter,  "  the  stalwart,  handsome 
groom,  bearing  upon  his  arm  his  sweet  and  girlish 
wife,  led  her  out  to  the  carriage  which  soon  whirled 
the  happy  pair  to  the  railroad  depot.  There  they 
took  train  for  New  York,  in  which  historic  spot 
their  honeymoon  will  be  passed. 

"  Friends  and  relatives  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tren- 
ham  may  expect  to  see  them  back  in  about  two 
weeks,  when  the  young  couple  will  take  up  their 
residence  in  the  picturesque  cottage  of  the  bride's 
mother,  the  still  y@uthful  and  lovely  Mrs.  Dudley 
Hallonquist,  so  well  known  to  all  her  circle  as 
Mary  Baring." 

About  a  fortnight  before  the  wedding  day, 
masons  and  carpenters,  with  their  corroborative 
piles  of  brick  and  timber,  had  appeared  at  the 
west  side  of  the  trunk-room. 

The  faint  clean  odour  of  yellow  pine  wrhich  once, 
to  Mary,  had  been  specially  delightful,  now,  as  an 
hourly  reminder  of  her  approaching  bondage,  be- 
came intolerable.  Each  nail  that  went  relentlessly 
to  its  allotted  place  made  one  negation  the  more 
in  the  last  personal  hope  the  widow  had  con- 
cealed. 

The  sounds  of  hammer,  saw  and  grating  brick, 


240  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

daily  persisting,  roused  Tempey  to  a  new  burst  of 
prophecy. 

"What  I  dun  tole  you,  man?"  she  asked  of  the 
instantaneously  wary  and  apprehensive  Grief. 

"What  I  dun  dremp  an'  seen,  but  jes'  dis  here 
spurt  of  buildin'?  Yes,  I  knows  dis  is  patchin'," 
she  went  on,  as  Grief  showed  no  alertness  to  re- 
spond, "but  dey  is  jes'  de  start  of  de  sho'  miff 
buildin'  what  is  comin'  atter  awhile.  Ya-a-s,  Lawdy 
— hit  is  drawin'  near.  I  feels  hit  fum  far-away. 
Dat  big  house  gwinter  rise,  jes'  lak  I  tole  you " 

As  the  phrases  grew,  Tempey's  turbaned  head 
began  to  sway,  and  her  voice  caught  the  rhythm  of 
half -barbaric  chanting.  "  Yes,  Lord,"  Cassandra 
boomed,  echoing  her  own  words,  "  I  ain't  dremp 
dreams,  an'  seen  an'  smelt  visions  all  fer  nothin'. 
De  Reverind  Drake,  he  sez,  as  how  he  aint  ex- 
pe'iunced  nothin'  mo'  sancterfied  hisself." 

Grief,  resting  his  bones  on  the  usual  low  stool, 
furtively  reached  down,  and  halfway  round  himself, 
stretching  his  stiff  leg  by  inches,  until  he  could 
extract  from  the  rear  pocket  of  ,his  shapeless 
trousers  a  corncob  pipe,  his  joy,  and  Tempey's 
detestation. 

The  moment  had  been  too  propitious  to  be 
wasted,  for  his  wife  bent  far  over  a  flour-bin  into 
the  wall,  and  was  counting  out  by  cupfuls  her  need 
for  a  new  setting  of  her  famous  bread.  Rising,  she 
lifted  the  filled  dishpan  and  started  back  to  the 
kneading-table. 


A  WEDDING  AND  A  JOURNEY       241 

Alas  for  Grief,  the  stiff  leg,  still  protruding,  got 
in  the  bearer's  way.  She  stumbled,  screamed,  and 
then  by  a  marvel  of  dexterity  and  balance  rescued 
the  pan  from  falling  to  the  floor. 

This  near  escape  made  her  quick  anger  to  flare. 
"  Look  what  you  mos'  done,"  she  scowled  upon  him. 
"  An'  all  for  reachin'  atter  dat  rancid  pipe.  How, 
in  Gawd's  name,  is  I  to  see  visions  an'  smell  de 
sawin  of  dem  Cedars  of  Lebnun  whilst  you  is  set- 
tin'  dar  a-puffin'  on  a  j'int  of  an  ole  mule's 
tail?" 

Grief  suddenly  and  most  unexpectedly  sat  up. 
Tempey's  eyes  widened.  It  was  as  if  the  stone  on 
which  she  battened  her  clothes  was  to  shrink  aside 
and  leave  her  beating  the  air. 

"  Ef  hit  war  dat  big,  bawlin'  nigger  preacher, 
young  Pig  Drake,  a-drawin'  on  dis  same  good  pipe 
up  in  his  pulpik,"  Grief  declared  with  slow  im- 
pressive bitterness,  "  you  an'  all  de  udder  fool  sis- 
tren  of  de  church  dey'd  say  hit  was  de  bref  of 
cher'bimbs,  what  jes'  bin  eatin'  peppermints.  But 
urcose  bein'  as  I  ain't  nothin'  but  yo'  lawful  wedded 
wife " 

He  paused  and  sank  back  to  a  heap  of  silent 
resentment. 

Tempey,  after  a  struggle  with  her  conscience, 
which  told  her  to  defend  her  spiritual  leader,  the 
Rey.  Pig  Drake,  burst  into  deep  laughter. 

"  You  sure  is  jealous  of  dat  holy  man ! "  she 
chuckled,  not  without  satisfaction.  "  But  how 


242  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

many  times  mo'  is  I  got  to  tell  you  dat  you  ain't 
my  wife?  I's  yourn,  an'  you's  my  husbin." 

Grief's  obstinacy  grew.  "  Don't  de  Good  Book 
declar',"  he  challenged,  "  dat  place  whar  Paul 
is  layin'  de  law  round,  dat  wives  is  dem  what 
nachally  sub-mits  deyselves  to  dey  husbins?  An- 
swer me  dat." 

"  Ya-a-as,"  Tempey  conceded,  after  a  troubled 
pause.  This  "  argifying  "  was  not  at  all  like  Grief. 

Emboldened  by  the  unwonted  timidity  of  his 
better  half,  the  old  man  drew  himself  erect,  and 
fixed  eyes  that  he  hoped  were  stern  on  the  offender. 

"Sub-mtfs/-"  he  bellowed  hoarsely. 

"  Yas,  I  done  heared.  I  ain't  deef  o'  hearin'," 
Tempey  retorted  rather  fretfully. 

"  Den'  if  you  heerd,"  Grief  continued  relent- 
lessly, "  jes'  you  thinks  back,  an'  see  when  you  ever 
is  submitted  yo'  fat  se'f  to  me." 

Tempey  gave  it  up,  and  worked  her  puzzled 
thoughts  into  the  acrid  dough,  while  Grief, 
triumphant,  voiced  his  thankfulness  that  "  atter 
Miss  Sophie's  ma-aige,  dey'd  be  annuder  man  under 
dish-here  female  roof." 

Yes,  Grief,  henpecked  and  blackened  shard  of 
masculinity  though  he  was,  had  fibres  left  in  him 
that  cried  out  in  gladness  to  know  that  another 
man — and  not  a  mere  parcel  of  woman-tyrants — 
would  rule  in  the  home  he  humbly  served. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  LION 

KAJRL  and  Sophie  returned  "on  the  dot," 
as  the  young  husband  said,  and  the  whole 
of  Dunrobin,  except  only  Miss  Laird,  gave 
them  welcome  and  hearty  good-will  in  their  new 
life  together. 

The  trunk-room  addition  proved  a  success.  It 
so  delighted  the  couple  that  Trenham  suggested  an 
entire  fresh  coat  of  paint  for  the  house;  a  much 
needed  improvement  which  all  along  had  been 
greatly  desired  by  the  owner,  but  had  to  be  given 
up  because  other  and  more  pressing  demands  had 
used  up  her  last  dollar. 

Inferring  of  course  that  her  son-in-law  meant  to 
assume  the  expense  of  the  painting,  she  gave,  smil- 
ing consent.  Light,  impractical  colours  were 
selected,  the  work  skilfully  done,  and  the  bill  for  the 
whole  sent  to  one  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Hallonquist. 

It  was  impossible  for  Sophie's  mother  to  at  once 
meet  the  new,  unforeseen  liability;  and  it  cast  the 
first  shadow  of  fear  upon  this  three-cornered  man- 
ner of  life.  To  Mary,  dishonour  and  debt  were 
twin  furies,  and  to  give  Karl  and  Sophie  the 

243 


244  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  swell "  wedding  upon  which  they  insisted  had 
very  nearly  wiped  out  her  small  bank  account. 

A  full  week  had  passed  since  the  Trenham  home- 
coming, when  Sophie  was  sent  to  her  mother  with 
the  uncomfortable  message,  "  Mother,  Karl  wants 
to  know,  whether  you  will  think  it  quite  enough 
for  his  share  of  the  expenses,  if  he  gives  you  the 
same  board  he  used  to  pay  Miss  Abby  Quigley?  " 

Mary  winced  at  the  graceless  term  "  board,"  and 
murmuring  something  that  Sophie  might  take  for 
assent,  turned  away,  vaguely  shamed  and  embar- 
rassed. As  for  Mrs.  Karl's  "  board,"  it  was  not 
even  thought  of — at  least  by  the  married  pair,  who 
started  life  determined  above  all  things  to  "  get 
on." 

The  results  of  vicarious  bliss  upon  Mary  Hallon- 
quist  showed  no  symptoms  of  being  fulfilled  as  time 
hurried  by.  Instead,  day  by  day  she  grew  more 
languid,  the  reins  of  domestic  government  slipped 
speedily  into  the  hands  of  .her  daughter,  with  never 
so  much  as  a  feeble  jerk  of  remonstrance. 

Chris  Laird  a  few  days  before  the  return  of  the 
Trenhams  had,  without  a  word  of  warning,  gone 
somewhere  "  up  North."  His  employers,  Messrs. 
Page  &  Youngblood,  asserted  that  it  was  the  very 
first  holiday  he  had  asked  for,  since  he  came  to 
their  firm,  now  some  twenty  years  past. 

Where  the  traveller  went,  not  even  his  idol 
Alonzo  had  been  told.  Miss  Ossie  grew  angry  when 
questioned,  thus  showing  her  ignorance.  There 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  LION          245 

was  in  the  small  town,  however,  one  stricken  soul 
who  believed  that  she  knew  why  he  went,  and  for 
what  romantic  purpose. 

It  was  so  like  the  man — like  this  Chris  who  could 
never  discuss  his  deep,  personal  feelings — to  slip 
off  quietly  and  join  Miss  Lycosa.  The  two,  after 
an  unadvertised  wedding — and  a  honeymoon  such 
as  no  other  woman  could  possibly  know,  being  with 
Chris — would  return  to  their  home.  The  desire 
to  keep  his  plans  private  was,  of  course,  the  travel- 
ler's real  reason  for  sending  no  letters,  not  even 
to  his  old  friend. 

"  So  he'll  be  married  when  Dunrobin  sees  him 
again,1'  the  sick  woman  mused,  while  great  tears 
swelled  and  pushed  through  her  lashes.  "  Oh,  how 
I  hope  my  dear  Chris  will  be  happy,"  she  prayed, 
beginning  a  weak,  supine  sobbing.  "  Oh,  God — 
help  me  to  mean  it,  when  I  say  that  I  want  happi- 
ness for  both}  and  not  for  Chris  alone." 

Chris  returned — unexpectedly  too — a  few  weeks 
before  Christmas.  No  one  was  warned  of  his  com- 
ing, and  he  carried  the  key  of  his  den  in  his  vest- 
pocket. 

His  train  puffed  in  at  four  o'clock  of  a  late  after- 
noon, and  a  sun  made  of  copper  newly  scoured 
gave  a  last  knowing  wink  as  it  drew  down  beneath 
the  tumbled  blue  covers  of  hills  for  the  night. 

The  man's  first  thought  was  to  bolt  for  Miss 
Mary's.  Through  the  long,  glowing  weeks  of  aloof- 
ness, he  had  never  been  rid  of  a  certain  small  gnaw- 


246  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

lag  of  conscience.  He  yearned  to  be  sure  that  she 
harboured  no  grievance  against  him.  Perhaps  this 
time  he  really  could  tell  her  what  a  recognized 
naturalist  and  writer  he  had  become. 

When  the  reeling  old  phaeton  driven  by  Uncle 
Daddy  between  the  Dunrobin  station  and  the  houses 
of  the  quality  at  last  stopped  at  his  gate,  Chris 
allowed  the  old  man  to  assist  in  "  totin "  the 
heavier  articles  to  the  foot  of  the  steep  kitchen 
stairs,  paid  him  off,  and  had  partly  ascended  that 
squeaking  incline,  when  Ossie  from  out  of  a  win- 
dow caught  sight  of  the  half-crouching  figure. 

She  rushed  down  crying,  "  Bud — Bud !  Oh, 
Buddy!  It  ain't  really  you!"  her  voice  like  a 
girl's  with  excitement.  Her  greeting  touched  Chris 
to  the  verge — and  to  the  escapement — of  big,  happy 
tears. 

"  Lord !  I  plumb  didn't  know,"  he  got  out,  swal- 
lowing hard  to  keep  steady,  "  that  you  cared  for 
me  ever  like  this— so  severe." 

"  Nor  me  neether !  "  sobbed  Ossie,  her  thin  cheeks 
drenched  with  joy.  "  It's  because,  you  young  scamp, 
you  never  ain't  left  me  before.  I  lacked  having  a 
measure  for  caring." 

Chris  had  stooped  for  the  parcels  set  down  at 
his  feet,  when  he  first  heard  his  sister  approach- 
ing. A  few  were  regained,  but  now,  at  the  break  in 
Sis's  tone,  he  flung  them  aside,  and  they  sullenly 
bumped  to  the  floor  as  he  caught  her  again  to  his 


THE  KETURN  OF  THE  LION          247 

arms,  compressing  a  chest,  already  too  flat,  to  a 
palpitant  wafer. 

"  Yon — you — don't  aim  to  be  going  ont  any — 
right  away? "  Ossie  stammered,  as  soon  as  her 
speech  came  again.  "  James  and  Letty  must  see 
you  at  supper.  You  won't  go  before  then?  Say 
you. won't — to  please  Sis." 

After  the  shortest  of  struggles,  Sis  won. 

It  is  safe  to  assert  that  the  hour  ensuing — a 
space  during  which  Ossie  had  the  delicate  tact 
to  see  he  was  left  quite  alone — proved,  to  Chris, 
the  most  beatific,  the  most  ample  and  filled  with 
content,  of  any  he  ever  had  known. 

He  looked  all  about  him  at  first,  as  if  a  little 
bewildered.  Grey  eyes  blinked,  but  the  light  was 
within.  The  man  could  scarcely  believe  these 
many  treasures  to  be  his  alone — held  in  silence,  in- 
violate, faithful,  until  his  return.  From  one  swing- 
ing cocoon  to  its  neighbour  he  moved  very  softly, 
the  big  hand  upraised  that  a  finger  might  give  its 
prehensile  and  savouring  touch. 

All  of  the  water  left  in  a  box  of  grass  and  earth 
near  the  window  had  vanished.  He  stared  down, 
wondering  darkly  whether  any  small  "  critter " 
had  perished  because  of  the  too-scant  store. 

Leaning  over  his  bait-gourd,  he  saw  that  the 
tiny  white  pearls  there  imbedded  had  hatched,  and 
were  now  wandering  larvae.  This  meant  he  must 
down  to  his  knees — the  plaid  trousers  with  which 


248  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

he  had  intended  to  emulate  and  dazzle  'Lonzo  for- 
gotten. Through  great  dust-piles  of  papers  he 
searched — under  bed  and  bureau  and  table.  As 
a  new  slimy  truant  was  captured,  the  naturalist  felt 
as  a  miser  who  discovers  yet  another  gold  coin  in 
a  crack. 

Again  on  his  feet,  the  huge,  gentle  person  paced 
his  small,  quiet  demesne.  Not  a  step  could  he 
take  until  his  keen  eyes  had  first  swept  the  floor 
clean  for  his  coming.  Who  knew  what  wee,  partly 
developed  "  bug-critter  "  might  lie  in  his  elephant 
path? 

Having  thus  renewed  touch  with  his  household, 
Chris  turned  next  to  the  core  of  his  inner  being — 
a  record  of  all  the  dear  years,  his  old  Memory 
Book. 

The  white  pages  filled  of  themselves,  the  writer 
only  needing  to  pause  now  and  then  for  a  deep, 
happy  chuckle. 

When  the  supper  bell  rang,  Chris  jumped  to  his 
feet.  "  Gorry-midey !  "  he  cried.  "  And  I  ain't 
even  changed  my  train  collar!  Well,  Ossie  won't 
care  for  this  once." 

He  was  correct  in  the  daring  conjecture,  for  the 
sister  still  quivered  with  joy  at  his  presence,  and 
James  and  Letty  followed  suit.  Indeed,  the  travel- 
ler had  a  hard  time  to  make  his  escape  but  finally 
doing  so,  ran  up  the  stairs,  assuring  himself  sotto 
voce,  "  I  must  go  to  Miss  Mary  right  away.  I 
oughtn't  to  finish  that  sentence  I  broke  in  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  LION          249 

middle.    I'm  sure  not  to  forget  what  comes  after 
— leastwise  I  hope  that  I  won't." 

But  on  reaching  his  room,  and  seeing  the  book 
and  his  pen  invitingly  spread  as  he  had  left  them, 
Chris  gave  a  short  groan  of  regret  at  his  moral 
weakness,  and  telling  himself,  "  Just  this  one  page, 
and  then  I'll  go,"  he  sat  down  to  the  desk. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

CHRIS  IS  "  GOARDED  " 

IT  was  about  ten  of  the  clock  that  same  evening 
when  a  queer  ping  and  tinkle  made  Chris  lift 
his  faraway  gaze.  He  had  been  writing  at 
length,  and  with  deep,  reminiscent  enjoyment,  the 
account  of  a  great  New  York  function  at  which  he, 
of  all  men,  had  been  the  recognized  lion. 

"  I  kept  thinking,"  he  wrote,"  if  only  Sis  Ossie 
could  be  standing  here  now,  for  to  see  for  herself 
what  a  fuss  these  big  folks  at  the  North  are  mak- 
ing over  her  no-count  young  brother.  And  I 
longed  too  for  poor  Ma,  but  without  her  neuralgy 
or  her  stocking." 

A  second  sharp,  small  detonation  here  came  hard 
on  the  heels  of  the  first. 

The  penman  scowled  blackly  when  the  third 
pebble  struck  clear,  on  a  pane  of  the  far  window. 

Bushing  to  the  spot,  he  threw  the  sash  up,  and 
was  instantly  greeted,  from  darkness  below,  "  Hey 
there,  Chris — you  old  'possum  up  there  in  your 
crotch  of  the  tree ! — is  your  door  on  the  open?  " 

"  'Lon-zo  I "  shrieked  Chris,  all  impatience  for- 
gotten. "  Yes,  it's  open.  Come  right  up,  you  old 

250 


CHRIS  IS  "GOARDED"  251 

varmint,  or  I'll  fall  down  them  steps  for  to  hyste 
you." 

'Lonzo's  long  legs  made  four  bites  at  the  stairs, 
and  in  he  strode,  like  a  sergeant  who  has  run  a 
deserter  to  earth. 

"  Well,  I  see  that  at  last  you  are  back,"  the 
visitor  remarked,  with  a  curious,  latent  resentment. 

Chris,  the  lion,  felt  sparks  in  his  mane. 

"  I  had  thought  so  myself,  until  now,"  he  re- 
torted. "  But  I  allow  I  mayhaps  was  mistaken." 

The  irony  flew  by  Alonzo,  an  arrow  sped  wide  of 
its  mark.  He  stood  still,  his  dark  eyes  set  on 
Chris,  in  a  way  that  produced  keen  discomfort. 

"What's  ailing  you,  man?"  that  scrutinized 
victim  protested.  "  Standing  up  there  with  two 
big,  smoking  lamps  in  your  head?  "  And  as  'Lonzo 
refused  him  an  answer,  continued  more  vehemently, 
"And  how-cum  you  feel  called  on  to  bust  into 
my  vigils,  a-glaring  at  me  like  a  hant?  " 

"  I  got  reasons,"  the  other  replied,  darkly  mys- 
terious. "  It  air  bad  news.  It  relates  to — Miss 
Mary." 

Chris's  bold  front  fell  away  as  a  mask.  He  threw 
a  hand  sidewise,  and  began  feeling  round,  as  a 
man  newly  blinded.  Encountering  the  back  of 
his  desk-chair,  he  lowered  himself  to  the  seat. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  he  whispered.  "  Miss  Ma-ry ! 
Speak  it,  man — quick.  I'm  anguished  to  hear." 

Alonzo's  clear-cut  face  softened,  but  he  forced 
the  scowl  again  to  his  brow. 


252  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  First,  you  tell  me  just  this,  how  long  air  you 
been  from  her  side?  " 

"  From  whose  side? — from  Miss  Mary's?  I  don't 
rightly  belong  to  her  side,  or  no  other  woman's," 
Chris  remonstrated  with  some  courage. 

"  YeVe  been  away  five  weeks.  Five  lonely 
weeks,"  accused  Alonzo.  "  And  how  many-a  letter 
have  you  written?  " 

"  That  air  none  of  your  business.  You  tell  me 
that  thing  you  was  starting  to  tell  about  Miss 
Mary,"  blustered  Chris,  getting  up  to  his  feet,  and 
striding  toward  his  companion. 

"  Then  hear  it,"  said  'Lonzo,  "  and  know  you 
have  done  it  yourself.  She  air  pining  away,  Milly 
says.  She  is  flitting  like  gals  of  the  hills,  such  as 
we  have  seen,  when  they  are  tooken  with  long 
mountain  sickness.  Milly  goes  there,  she's  one  of 
the  few  that  Miss  Mary  will  see.  Milly  says,"  he 
went  on  with  the  torture,  "  that  a'ready  she's  white 
as  the  snow  what's  just  fell  on  a  grave." 

Chris  stood  rigidly  still,  and  each  word  his  friend 
flung  toward  him  struck  as  a  blow. 

"  Her  sickness  had  really  begun  with  pining  for 
you,"  'Lonzo  continued,  and  the  compelling  gaze  set 
on  Chris  dared  him  to  oppose  the  statement.  "  But 
it  got  mighty  much  worse,  from  the  minute  them 
brass-banded  Trenhams — the  scarrapins  both — 
come  back  home  to  the  old  lady's  house,  and  just 
nachally  shelved  her." 

"  But  they  couldn't.    It's  Miss  Mary's  own  house 


CHRIS  IS  "GOARDED"  253 

— what  is  tied  to  her,  tight  as  a  wart,  by  the  law. 
I  saw  to  it  and  fixed  it,"  said  Chris. 

"  What  protection  is  law  against  such  a  hustler 
as  that  Trenham?"  asked  'Lonzo.  "His  one  law 
is  to  grab  all  he  can." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  groaned  Chris. 

".But  it's  true."  'Lonzo  paused  for  an  instant. 
"  Now  let's  get  to  the  p'int  and  no  shirking." 

"  Who's  shirking?  "  cried  Chris,  with  guilty  swift- 
ness. 

"  We  soon  is  to  see,"  'Lonzo  remarked.  "  I  s'pose 
you  don't  think  I  know  why  you  got  out  of 
town  so  darn  quick,  right  after  Sophie's  wed- 
ding? " 

"  Anybody  is  welcome  to  know  why  I  went," 
Chris  began. 

"  Steady  there,"  warned  'Lonzo.  "  All  your  life 
you've  been  thinking  you  doted  and  worshipped 
Miss  Mary,  and  then  the  minute  you  had  the  chance 
for  to  get  her — why,  you  ran  like  a  sheep  from  a 
dog." 

"  I  didn't !  Ain't  you  'shamed,  'Lonzo  Thigpen, 
to  be  speaking  so  light  of  a  lady?  It  ain't  nowise 
respectful." 

"  You  mean  she  don't  care  for  you — thataway?  " 

"  I  mean  that"  Chris  replied,  on  a  lilting  fever- 
ish hope.  If  only  'Lonzo  would  go,  and  leave  him 
in  peace  with  his  writing. 

"  You  air  sure?  "  the  inquisitor  prodded.  "  And 
you  give  me  your  word  to  that  fact?  " 


254  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Chris's  hope  broke,  with  the  sound  and  tke 
quiver  of  a  child's  toy  balloon  in  the  air. 

"  I'm  as  sure  as  a  fellow  can  be,  about  a  thing 
what  he  can't  be  plumb  sure  of,"  he  fenced  with 
adroit  circumlocution;  and  then,  before  his 
friend's  silent  scorn,  he  protested,  "  but  Miss  Mary 
couldn't  care.  Just  you  cast  your  eyes  over  me, 
'Lonzo — cast  both  your  eyes.  Don't  you  see  I'm 
as  ugly  as  sin,  and  more  clumsy?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  Thigpen  assented  quickly,  "  but  in 
your  old  bachelor  innards  you  knows  that  the  poor 
woman  dotes  on  you." 

"  Rut  I  tell  you  she  don't! "  Chris  exclaimed, 
showing  symptoms  of  tears. 

"  It's  queer  what  women  can  love,"  'Lonzo  con- 
tinued, ignoring  his  companion's  distress.  "  Just 
— for  instance — see  me  and  my  sweet  one.  How  in 

Gawd's  name  that  angel  can  care Look  here, 

Chris,"  he  broke  in,  leaning  far  forward,  "  without 
you  love  and  air  wedded,  all  you  gets  is  the 
peelings  of  life — just  the  rinds — and  no  savour  of 
sweet  fruit  within." 

"  But  s'posing  a  fellow  likes  peelings,"  the  un- 
married man  burst  forth,  then  paused  and  looked 
sheepish. 

"  Now  we  got  it,"  triumphed  Alonzo  in  a  tone 
of  conviction.  "  And  it's  just  what  I  thought  all 
along.  You  is  worse  scared  of  marriage  than  a 
sick  kitten  is  scared  of  a  well.  You  don't  want  to 
take  care  of  Miss  Mary,  to  comfort  and  cherish  her 


CHRIS  IS  "GOARDED"  255 

none,  poor  little  lonely  small  lady.  I'm  done,"  he 
cried,  springing  up  to  his  feet.  "  Fare  ye  well. 
We  may  meet  before  long  at  your  Miss  Mary's 
funeral — you  damn  selfish  bachelor  skunk,  that  you 
is.  After  this  I'll  feel  pizened  to  greet  you." 

Chris  took  this  last  insult  in  silence.  Indeed,  the 
wretched  man  was  so  dazed  that  nothing  coherent 
could  enter  his  agonized  mind.  He  failed  to  per- 
ceive that  Thigpen  had  stopped  just  without  the 
one  door  of  his  room.  The  panel  moved  softly; 
one  eye  of  Alonzo  appeared. 

"  That  is,  you  poor  fool,  you'll  be  pizen  until  you 
have  writ  as  you  should  to  that  sweet  sainted  soul 
what  adores  you." 

Now  the  swift  racing  steps  brushed  the  stair- 
way and  vanished. 

The  sorely  tried  Chris — feeling,  somehow,  a  hint 
of  vague  comfort  at  his  visitor's  last  speech — 
cowered  down  in  his  chair.  Later,  he  threw  him- 
self onto  the  bed  with  face  hidden  from  all  of  his 
treasures. 

He  sought  the  old  pipe,  but  even  that  friend 
failed  to  comfort.  Then  he  paced  to  and  fro — 
still  a  lion — but  one  in  a  cage.  And  the  curious 
phase  of  his  torment  was  that  he  knew  well,  all  the 
time,  that  soon  he  would  write  to  Miss  Mary. 

Once  again  he  performed  a  slow,  solemn  round 
among  his  cocoons  and  bug-critters.  His  eyes  held 
the  tears  of  farewell.  Once  again  he  patted  the 
sides  of  his  Memory  Book,  after  which,  replacing 


256  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  tome  to  its  nook  of  safe  hiding,  he  got  out  some 
paper  and  wrote: 

"  DEAR  Miss  MARY, 

This  beginning  looked  cold.  He  tilted  his  shaggy 
head  backward  to  view  it,  and  sighed  deeply.  "  I'd 
better  not  make  it  too  vigorous,  until  I  find  out 
what  she  likes.  That  long-legged  tanner  from  yan," 
he  referred  to  his  once  worshipped  Alonzo,  "  don't 
know  everything  down  in  Judee."  At  this  thought 
the  mournful  face  lightened,  but  it  proved  merely  a 
rift  in  the  clouds. 

"  I  came  back  only  this  evening  at  sunset  [he  went 
on  with  his  missive],  I  had  surely  intended  to  go  to 
your  house  the  minute  I  had  swallowed  my  supper, 
and  I  hurried  upstairs  for  my  coat,  but  I  just  had  to 
finish  one  line  of  some  writing  that  the  supper  bell 
broke  in  the  middle — and  when  I  got  started  I  did 
not  have  sense  enough  to  stop. 

About  ten,  Lonzo  Thigpen,  who  had  heard  I  was 
back  from  my  visit,  he  chunked  up  some  rocks  at  my 
window,  and  then  told  me  the  terrible  news  of  your 
being  so  ailing,  and  still  are. 

I  am  asking  you  now,  dear  Miss  Mary,  to  give  me 
the  right  to  take  care  of  you  ever.  There  ain't  been, 
and  won't  never  be  any  woman  for  me,  since  that  first 
time  I  saw  your  sweet  face  when  I  vaulted  the  fence 
of  the  Rectory  garden,  that  time  I  was  chasing  a 
spider,  which  turned  out  to  be  the  first  species  of  the 
genus  Lycosa  I  had  ever  seen. 

I  had  given  up  all  thoughts  of  being  wedded  like 


CHRIS  IS  "  GOARDED  "  257 

other  men — specially  Lonzo.  More  than  once  you  have 
made  me  to  know — or  I  thought  so — that  a  friendship 
was  all  that  you  would  wish.  I  had  grown  content 
with  that  too,  having  fixed  up  my  den  as  I  wanted, 
and  knowing  no  lady,  not  even  one  so  willing  as  you, 
would  let  me  keep  spiders  and  beetles,  and  lately  I'm 
adding  some  caterpillars  and  a  few  fighting  wasps,  the 
latter  of  which,  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with  the  great 
naturalist  Fabre,  are  almost  the  queerest  of  all. 
Though  I'm  bound  to  tell  you  that  caterpillars  are 
wonderful  too,  in  their  way,  especially  that  variety 
called  the  Processional  Caterpillar  of  the  Pines.  I 
could  show  you  one  of  these  processions  some  day, 
if  you  could  bring  yourself  to  take  real  interest. 

Lonzo  made  me  believe  what  I  never  have  thought 
for  myself,  that  maybe  you  cared  for  me  just  a  little. 
I  now  offer  myself — all  my  heart  and  my  love — and  I 
want  to  take  care  of  you,  dear  Miss  Mary;  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  there  is  not  much  else  to  offer.  Like  a 
fool  I  took  most  of  my  savings  and  went  up  North  like 
a  selfish  pig,  and  had  a  good  time  on  the  money  all 
alone  by  myself,  and  nobody  with  me.  But  if  you  will 
make  me  the  happiest  of  men,  dear  Miss  Mary,  I  will 
never  spend  another  cent  on  myself,  except  now  and 
then  for  tobacco,  a  cheap  brand. 

God  bless  you,  Miss  Mary,  and  make  you  well  soon. 
Let  me  know  the  first  moment  you  are  able  to  see  me, 
but  don't  exert  yourself  any  for  me.  God  bless  you 
again. 

Your  faithful  devoted  friend  ever, 

CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A  STAR  IN  THE  EAST 

EACH  morning,  the  very  first  thing  upon  com- 
pleting her  toilet,  it  was  now  Sophie's  custom 
to  go  to  her  mother,  give  her  greetings  with 
lingering  sweetness,  and  inquire  as  to  the  night 
she  had  passed. 

On  the  day  following  Chris's  arrival,  and  before 
the  Trenham-Hallonquist  menage  was  aware  of  his 
coming,  the  young  wife  emerged  from  the  sick-room 
her  face  plainly  stamped  with  alarm. 

Half -unconscious  of  where  her  steps  led  her,  she 
returned  to  her  bedchamber,  and,  passing  through 
and  beyond  it,  re-entered  the  pleasant  dressing- 
room  annex. 

Karl  had  just  finished  shaving.  Catching  sight 
of  his  wife  in  the  mirror,  he  wheeled  round  at  once. 
"  And  how  is  Mother  today?  "  he  inquired,  in  a 
tone  which  revealed  it  as  part  of  the  morning's 
routine. 

No  answer  being  given,  his  blond  brows  con- 
tracted ;  and  pursing  his  mouth  for  a  whistle,  as  if 
in  dismay,  he  suddenly  changed  to  the  lowered 
query,  "  She  ain't  worse?  " 

"  I  can't  honestly  say  that  she's  worse,"  Sophie 

258 


A  STAR  IN  THE  EAST  299 

told  him,  "  but  if  you'd  seen  her  just  now  as  I  did, 
with  one  little  shaft  of  grey  light  on  her  exquisite 
face — And  it  held  that — that — happy  faraway 
smile  which  I  know,  though  I  never  have  seen  it 
before,  must  lie  on  the  lips  of  those  who  die  in  the 
Lord." 

As  she  stammered  these  last  tragic  words,  she 
flung  herself  on  to  a  couch,  all  of  her  slender  and 
vigorous  being  one  tempest  of  grief. 

Trenham  threw  himself  down  to  his  knees  be- 
side her,  "  Now,  my  dearest,"  he  pleaded,  "  you 
know  this  won't  do " 

"Oh,  but  Karl,"  Sophie  wailed  to  him,  "I 
couldn't  bear  it  right  now — right  now  when  I'll 
need  her  so  badly.  Every  girl  needs  her  mother 
most — then." 

The  two  lovers  rocked  silently  together,  until  the 
wife's  long  sobs  had  been  stilled. 

"  That's  better,  my  own  precious  darling.  You 
be  quiet — that's  right.  You've  got  me  and  our 
secret  to  think  of,  as  well  as  your  poor  little  mother. 
Have  you  told  her  yet?  " 

"  No — not  ye-ye-yet,"  quavered  Sophie.  "  I've 
wanted  to,  and  I've  tried ;  but  somehow,  at  the  last, 
when  about  to  begin  it,  I  got  frightened  for  fear 
of  the  shock." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  would  think  it  a  shock.  In 
fact,  I  believe  it  might  help  her." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  will  make  myself  tell  her  today. 
Oh,  Karlie,  you  old  angel.  You  are  such  a  wonder- 


260  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

f ul  comfort ! "  she  nestled,  her  soft  lips  seeking 
his. 

In  the  calm  of  the  forenoon  Sophie  told  her 
secret. 

She  scarcely  had  needed  a  word,  for  to  all  of 
the  mothers  on  earth  the  white  light  of  Annuncia- 
tion has  a  glory  apart  from  all  lesser  revelations. 

Through  the  rest  of  the  morning  Mary  Hallon- 
quist  lay  without  movement  or  sound,  a  herald 
smile  on  her  silver-white  face,  and  her  eyes  wide 
blue  heavens  of  hope,  across  which,  now  and  again, 
drifted  small  clouds  of  memory. 

About  twelve  o'clock  Sophie  ventured  to  knock, 
and  had  just  entered  when  a  vigorous  battering  of 
fists  on  the  door  put  an  end  to  all  talk  in  an 
instant. 

"  Letter  done  jes'  bin  lef  by  dat  young,  yaller 
postman  fer  Miss  Mary  Hallonquist,  fo'  hunderd 
an'  forty  one  Regint's  Road,  Dunrobin,  Virginny," 
announced  Tempey,  as  if  reading  aloud. 

"  Not  really  for  me.  Come  in,  Tempey,"  the  sick 
woman  added.  "  Why,  nobody  writes  to  me  now. 
I've  been  so  negligent  of  all  my  old  correspondents. 
Oh,  I  know,  it's  an  advertisement." 

"  Nome,  'tain't  no  ad-ver-f ise-ment,  Miss  Mary. 
Hit's  a  sure  'nuff,  fo'  de  Lawd  letter,  wid  de  stamp 
an'  de  backin'  an'  all.  I  did  think  at  fust  hit  was 
writ  by  de  quality,"  the  bearer  commented,  scowl- 
ing down  at  the  missive  once  more.  "  De  han'writ- 
in'  is  what  hit  should  be,  but  den  when  I  turnt  hit 


A  STAR  IN  THE  EAST  261 

over  I  seed  dat  de  thumb  wan't  clean  what  run 
over  de  flap  after  lickin'  hit " 

"  That  sounds  not  unlike  Uncle  Chris,"  Sophie 
laughed,  noting  a  flush  stealing  over  Mary's  cheek. 
"  Going  to  read  it  aloud  to  the  family,  Mother,"  she 
teased,  then  running  to  Tempey,  and  slipping  her 
arm  through  a  gingham  one,  cried,  "  Come  on, 
Mammy.  No  place  for  us  now." 

"  Yes,  it  is  Chris's  writing.  It  really  is  Chris," 
Mary  whispered,  her  eyes  on  the  letter. 

She  reversed  it,  scrutinizing  the  postmark.  It 
was  unmistakably  "  Dunrobin,"  at  which  Mary  fell 
back  to  her  pillow  with  a  little  moan.  "  Then  he's 
home,"  she  reasoned.  "  Or  rather,  they're  home, 
and  this  is  their  announcement  of  the  marriage." 

She  flung  the  white  letter  to  one  side  as  though 
it  had  scorched  her.  "  I  can't  open  it,"  she  wept, 
in  helpless  bondage  to  her  misery.  "  I  know  I'm 
silly  and  weak,  but  somehow  I  just  can't." 

After  an  indulgence  in  tears,  the  usual  reaction 
of  which  brought  her  partial  composure,  she  finally 
tore  the  envelope  apart  and  read. 

It  was  but  a  few  moments  later  that  Sophie  and 
Tempey,  hearing  a  sharp,  sudden  scream,  forced 
themselves  to  a  simultaneous  dash  toward  the  sick- 
room. 

Sophie  reached  the  door  first,  and,  finding  it 
locked,  almost  sank  to  its  threshold  with  terror. 
"  Wait  right  where  you  are,  Mammy  Tempey,"  she 
chattered,  "  I'll  go  round  by  the  steps  that  lead 


262  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

through  our  new  bathroom,  and  try  to  get  in  that 
way." 

To  her  mighty  relief  she  succeeded,  and  only 
stopping  to  unfasten  the  door  for  Tempey,  ran  up 
to  her  mother. 

For  a  few  dreadful  heart-beats  Sophie  thought 
the  still  figure  was  lifeless.  It  was  lying  back 
across  the  pillows,  and  the  hands — through  the 
fingers  of  which  showed  the  dog's-ears  and  points 
of  a  just  crumpled  letter — were  crushed  to  her 
breast. 

Doctor  Stepp  arrived  promptly.  The  usual 
restoratives  were  given,  and  shortly  the  blue  eyes 
opened  wide  to  a  world  which,  indeed,  had  been 
suddenly  remoulded  much  nearer  to  her  sore  heart's 
desire. 

Chris  called  late  on  the  same  afternoon,  having 
been  told  by  "  niece  Letty  "  of  Mrs.  Hallonquist's 
sudden  and  quite  unaccountable  turn  for  the  better. 

Naturally,  to  the  writer  of  Chris's  impassioned 
love-letter  the  reason  of  the  change  was  clear.  So 
Alonzo  was  fatally  right!  All  Miss  Mary  had 
needed  was  just  what  his  letter  had  told  her. 

A  happy  and  rosy-cheeked  Sophie  threw  the  door 
wide  at  his  ring.  "  Uncle  Kiss !  How  delightful ! 
I  hadn't  heard  that  you  were  back.  Why,  Mother 
only  got  your  letter  yesterday,  and  I  felt  sure  it 
was  from  some  place  up  North." 

"  No,"  said  Lochinvar  heavily,  "  I  wrote  it  right 
here  in  this  town.  How's  Miss  Mary?  " 


A  STAR  IN  THE  EAST  263 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  heard? "  Sophie  sparkled. 
"  We've  been  frightfully  anxious,  but  now  Mother's 
going  to  get  well.'' 

"  I've  heard  as  much,"  Chris  replied  in  the  voice 
of  a  mourner.  "  Look  here,  Sophie,"  he  added,  his 
tone  sinking  low,  and  one  furtive  glance  cast  back 
over  a  shoulder,  to  see  whether  Thigpen  pursued. 
"  Is  it  plumb  downright  true?  Is  Miss  Mary  as 
well  as  you  looks  for?  " 

"  Every  bit  as  well,"  Sophie  carolled.  "  You 
never  saw  anything  like  it?  She's  improving  each 
moment  she  breathes.  Oh,  oh,  Uncle  Kiss — I'm  so 
happy ! " 

"  Me — me — too !  "  stammered  Chris,  with  a 
fatuous,  downward  extension  of  trembling  lips. 

"  I'm  just  bu'sting  with  joy.  But "  and  here 

he  offered  as  his  lover's  tribute  a  long  box  from 
the  florist's. 

"  How  sweet  of  you !  Wait  right  here,  while  I 
carry  your  flowers  to  Mother,"  Sophie  encouraged. 
"  I'll  soon  bring  you  a  message  from  her." 

She  flew  in  at  the  door,  but  Chris  clutched  her. 
"  Never  mind,"  he  gasped  out.  "  It  don't  matter. 
I  won't  wait.  I  don't  want  Miss  Mary  harried." 

"  Oh,  she  won't  think  it  harrying,"  the  daughter 
laughed. 

As  the  door  slammed,  Chris  hesitated  for  a  while, 
then  rushed  for  the  steps,  and  had  begun  a  quick 
trot  toward  the  gate,  when  Sophie's  voice  caught 
him. 


264  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Uncle  Kiss — come  on  back — I've  your  mes- 
sage." 

"  You  got  me  a  message,  you  say?  "  he  inquired 
very  feebly.  "  Air  you  sure  she  meant  it  for  me, 
and  no  other?  " 

"  What  a  question !  Why,  of  course  it's  for  you. 
Mother  said  to  tell  Chris What's  the  matter?  " 

"  No-no-thing,"  he  stuttered.  "  I  only  tripped 
over  one  foot.  This  here  boot,  it's  too  big  for  my 
tootsie — I'm  a-hearing  you  now — keep  right  on." 

Sophie's  eyes  narrowed  a  trifle.  "  Do  you  want 
it  in  her  very  own  words?  " 

"  I — I — reckon  I  do.  Yes — fire  straight,  I  ain't 
crawling." 

"  Well,  Mother  says  the  very  first  thing  she  will 
do  in  the  morning  when  the  doctor  lets  her  sit  up 
for  an  hour  will  be  to  answer  your  astonishing,  dear 
'and  ridiculous  letter." 

The  hearer  stood  still,  for  what  seemed  to  them 
both  a  long  silence. 

"  You're  dead  sure  she  spoke  them  words  what 
named  my  poor  letter — ree-dic-u-lous? "  Chris 
finally  asked. 

"Yes,  just  that.  Oh,  I  shouldn't  have  told  you! 
I'm  sure  she  couldn't  have  meant  it.  But  you  know 
Mother's  weak  yet,  Uncle  Chris,"  Sophie  exclaimed 
in  contrition. 

"  Weak ! '  he  cried  with  the  note  of  a  trumpet. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  us,  little  girl,  is  that 
she's  got  all  the  sense ! " 


A  STAR  IN  THE  EAST  265 

After  this,  to  Sophie's  utter  amazement,  the 
radiant  man  jerked  off  his  hat,  tossed  his  shuck- 
coloured  hair  to  the  breezes,  and  laughed  as  if  he 
were  going  stark  mad. 

"  You — you — must  try  not  to  notice,"  he  got  out 
on  a  short,  sobbing  breath.  "  When  a  great  misery 

hits  you  plumb  in  the  middle Hold  on  there 

just  a  minute " 

The  young  matron  paused,  still  puzzled,  but 
rather  more  scornful. 

"  Pur — pur — please,  don't  tell  your  maw  that 
I  laughed,"  he  besought,  on  a  new  suspiration. 

"  It  is  nothing  I  care  to  recall,  for  I  tell  you  right 
now,  Uncle  Chris,"  and  she  eyed  him  distastefully, 
"you  are  either  drunk  or  crazy." 

With  these  words  she  sped  up  the  walk  and  left 
him. 

Chris  lived  in  a  sort  of  dream  until  the  letter 
was  put  in  his  hand,  and  then,  like  a  dog  with  a 
bone  he  crept  to  his  kennel  to  read  it. 

"  You  dear  Chris — let  me  tell  you  at  once  that  my 
answer  is  No — the  tenderest,  lovingest  '  no '  that  ever 
was  spoken;  but  one  that  can  never  be  changed. 

It  was  kind  and  just  like  you  to  be  so  deeply  wor- 
ried because  of  my  illness,  and  want  '  to  take  care  of 
me  ever.'  But  I  don't  need  it  now,  because  of  a  won- 
derful something  that  has  only  just  come  into  my  life. 
There  are  tieo  wonderful  somethings,  to  be  truthful, 
yet  I  can  only  tell  of  one  in  this  letter. 

My  daughter — Sophie — is  going  to  need   me  more 


266  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

than  she  has  ever  done.  You  will  know  what  I  mean 
— you  who  loved  the  white  fox  on  the  hillside,  and 
cared  for  the  dumb  mother-sheep.  You  see,  I  remember 
all  the  things  that  you  tell  me.  And  when  this  sweet 
winter  is  past,  and  Sophie  has  looked  into  the  face 
of  her  firstborn — I  want  you  to  teach  me  about  the 
critters  you  love — the  processional  pines,  and  the  fight- 
ing spiders  too,  though  I  count  on  my  teacher  to  keep 
them  from  stinging  his  pupil.  And  Chris,  most  of  all, 
I  want  to  know  about  the  Lycosa!  If  you  only  knew 
what  Miss  Lizzy  Lycosa  was  meaning  to  me  at  this 
moment!  But  I  don't  think  you  ever  will  know. 

In  just  about  a  week  I  think  I'll  be  able  to  see  you, 
and  won't  we  both  laugh  at  this  idea  of  yours,  that  you 
ought  to  propose  to  and  protect  me?  No,  my  dear — 
you  must  always  remain  what  you  are  to  me  now  at 
this  writing — the  best,  the  dearest,  most  loyal  of  friends 
— may  God  make  me  worthy  of  all  you  have  given, 
dear  Chris,  and  will  I  know  continue  to  give  to  your 
humbled,  yet  happy  old  friend, 

Your 

'  Miss  MARY.'  " 

Chris  read  it  through  twice  without  a  pause. 
Then  he  raised  his  bent  head.  "  Lord !  "  he  groaned, 
dragging  out  from  its  niche  a  dingy  pocket  hand- 
kerchief. "  The  sense  she  is  got — the  good  sense ! 
of  course  there  never  was  a  thought — except  in  the* 
cracked  skull  of  'Lonzo — of  Miss  Mary  and  me 
mincing  round  getting  married.  We  is  both  better 
off  as  we  air — and  may  God  bless  her !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BLESSING 

SO  Chris's  Miss  Mary  got  well,  and,  along  with 
the  fresh  meed  of  vigour  regained  almost  her 
virginal  beauty,  and  a  new  tranquil  poise  of 
soul. 

And  why  should  she  not — this  devoted  and  sorely- 
tried  being?  In  one  golden  day  she  had  realized 
Chris  as  all  her  own,  and  had  strained  to  a  long- 
famished  heart  the  clinging,  enraptured  form  of  a 
newly  found  daughter. 

Then,  later  the  following  summer,  the  firstborn 
of  the  Trenhams  opened  heaven-blue  eyes  to  the 
world. 

At  first,  neither  parent  attempted  to  hide  a  keen 
disappointment  that  the  little  one  was  not  a  boy. 
But  to  the  grandmother,  to  Mary,  the  fact  of  its 
sex  was  just  one  more  deep  cause  for  rejoicing. 

"  My  blessing — my  blessing,"  she  whispered,  her 
fond,  humid  eyes  on  the  delicate  face.  "  The  others 
may  call  you  Mary  Baring,  and  I'm  glad  it  is  so, 
but  for  me  your  name  will  always  be  l  Blessing.'  " 

In  all  matters  of  business,  things  were  "  coming 
Karl's  way  "  with  a  vengeance.  The  shot  tower's 

267 


268  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

trade  boomed  loudly,  and  was  growing  to  such  an 
extent  that  fresh  runnels  of  interest  were  leading 
"  up  North  "  and  "  out  West."  It  was  now  that  the 
young  man  began  to  make  trips  to  that  Mecca  of  all 
financiers,  New  York  City. 

In  the  face  of  Karl's  steady  progress,  he  and 
Sophie  began  to  feel  that  the  cottage,  while  all  very 
well  for  a  young  couple's  start,  was  a  rather  poor 
housing  for  what  they  had  worked  up  to  now. 

"  Yes,  the  time  has  come  to  build,"  the  two 
agreed,  and  one  evening  soon  after,  the  husband 
and  wife  set  themselves  to  reckon  up  their  assets, 
the  exact  amount  of  cash  and  credit  that  might  be 
employed. 

"  Of  course,"  Sophie  observed,  tapping  with  the 
unsharpened  end  of  her  pencil  a  square  white  tooth, 
"  so  much  will  depend,  Daddy,  upon  the  size  and 
location  of  the  lot  we  get." 

Karl  gave  a  start.  "  I  don't  believe  you've  quite 
taken  in  the  fact  that  if  things  are  worked  right — 
if  we  just  push  together — we  could  manage  to  put 
up  a  house  that  would  place  us  at  once  in  the  class 
where  you  at  least  belong,  and  me  partly — that  is, 
of  historic  Virginians  who  still  live  on  the  land 
granted  to  their  forbears  by  kings.  Do  you  get 
me?  " 

Sophie's  face  lit  up  with  the  dawn  of  excite- 
ment. "  Not  exactly,  though  it  sounds  rather 
frightfully  thrilling." 

"  There  are  ways — without  using  much  cash — 


BLESSING  269 

and  while  luck's  running  with  me,  is  the  time  to 
take  risks.  It's  your  right,  my  dear  girl,  to  be 
given  a  fine  setting  that  suits  you,  and  another 
thing,  too,  we  must  think  of — Mary  Baring  may  not 
always  be  the  one  child.  Oh,  Sophie — you  darl- 
ing! "  he  broke  in  to  reach  for  her  hand,  "  to  blush 
for  your  husband  like  that.  No  wonder  I  stay 
crazy-mad  over  you,  and  get  worse  every  day  that 
I  live!  But  of  course,  precious  love,  you  must  see 
for  yourself  that  we've  got  to  have  sons  to  inherit 
the  fruits  of  our  efforts.'' 

"  I  see  it,"  she  murmured  with  adorable  meek- 
ness. "  You  mean,  we  should  rebuild  big  Hallon- 
quist  Hall?  " 

"Exactly,"  he  caught  with  a  laugh  from  her 
red  lips,  "  and  we  won't  wait  until  we  are  too 
old  to  enjoy  it!  No,  my  sweetheart,  that's  not 
Karl  Trenham's  way,  not  by  a  little !  We'll  get  the 
goods  now,  while  we're  young — a  huge,  showy 
palace." 

"  All  right,"  smiled  his  wife,  "  and  I  want  to 
hear  about  the  finances — how  you  think  you  can 
possibly  make  it." 

Karl's  eyes  fell  away,  but  his  voice  remained 
clear  and  convincing. 

"  First  of  all — through  my  credit  and  that  of  the 
shot  tower  business,  and  then  next  by — a  mort- 
gage." 

Sophie  sat  up  very  straight.  "  A  mortgage !  On 
what?  " 


270  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  This  whole  property,"  he  replied,  with  a 
broad,  sweeping  gesture.  "  The  Hallonquist  lot 
which  is  yours,  and  this  cottage." 

"  Mother'll  never  consent." 

"  Yes,  she  will,"  Karl  encouraged,  "  all  she  needs 
is  to  be  jollied  along  the  right  way.  If  it  wasn't 
so  late,"  he  remarked,  with  a  glance  at  the  clock 
which  was  just  going  ten,  "  I'd  go  rouse  her  right 
now  and  begin  it." 

"  I  won't  let  you,  Karlie.  Little  Mary's  been 
droopy  all  day,  and  you  know  what  that  does  to 
Mother.  No,  it  is  nothing  serious,"  Sophie  added, 
"  only  Mother  is  daffy  over  the  baby." 

The  next  day  little  Mary  was  still  in  a  rather 
high  fever. 

Doctor  Stepp  dropped  in  often,  not  so  much  that 
the  small  invalid  required  his  frequent  visits,  but 
to  assuage  the  anxiety  of  a  woman  he  liked  and 
admired.  Mary's  devotion  to  Blessing — as  the 
child  was  now  generally  called — was  one  of  the 
smiles  of  Dunrobin. 

That  evening  the  weary  and  still  anxious  Mrs. 
Hallonquist  dragged  herself  in  for  supper.  Her  face 
held  the  pallor  and  sharply  cut  lines  that  betokened 
a  famine  of  sleep. 

Karl  looked  past  the  delicate  profile  to  meet 
the  dark  eyes  of  his  wife,  and,  seeing  a  latent  sug- 
gestion of  warning,  immediately  withdrew  his 
own. 

"  Look  here,  Mother,"  he  began  boldly. 


BLESSING  271 

Mary  turned  a  slow,  answering  gaze.  "  Yes, 
Karl,  I  am  listening." 

"  There's  something  important  that  Sophie  and 
I  want  to  ask  you — a  business  affair,  so  to 
speak " 

"  Oh,  Karl,  couldn't  whatever  it  is  wait  till 
morning?  "  the  poor  lady  sighed.  "  I'm  exhausted ; 
and  besides,  I  must  get  back  to  Blessing,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  I'll  run  to  her,"  interjected  Sophie.  "  And  will 
promise  to  stay  if  she  isn't  asleep.  Karl  is  really 
anxious  to  get  your  opinion." 

The  husband  and  wife  nodded  sagely,  the  one 
to  the  other.  Already  they  worked  like  the  pro- 
verbial thumb  and  forefinger,  on  a  hand  shrewdly 
extended  toward  whatever  door  might  possibly  open 
to  disclose  approaching  perferment. 

The  mother  submitted,  and  let  herself  sink  to 
her  favourite  small  rocking-chair.  Both  eyes  were 
smarting,  and  the  white  lids  dropped  heavily. 

Karl  began  a  rapid  explanation  of  his  plans. 
Sophie,  stealing  in  a  few  moments  later,  saw  her 
mother's  brown  head  drooping  with  exhaustion. 

The  papers  had  all  been  prepared,  and  were 
lying  flat  on  the  table  as  if  pleading  for  signa- 
ture, when  the  three  heard  the  front  door-knob 
turn. 

This  time  the  man's  frown  was  a  scowl  which 
brought  his  thick  blond  brows  together,  then  his 
face  cleared.  "  It's  old  Doc!  "  he  exclaimed,  hear- 


272  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

ing  footsteps  continue  on  their  way  down  the  hall 
to  the  bedrooms.    "  He  won't  butt  in  here." 

"  It  sounded  to  me  like  two  pairs  of  feet,"  Sophie 
remarked,  but  no  one  else  appeared  to  notice  the 
fact. 

"  Now,  Mother,  brace  up,"  Karl  adjured.  "  This 
document  means  that  you  are  merely  lending  your 
lands  to  your  own  loving  children.  The  interest 
will  soon  be  paid  back — and  we  will  all  be  living 
like  kings  and  queens  in  a  palace — think  what  a 
fine  thing  it  will  be  for  Blessing,  think  of  all " 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  think,"  Mary's  plaintive 
tones  answered.  "  But  you  talk  so  very  loud  and 
fast,  Karl,  that  I  can't.  The  one  word  that  stays 
in  my  mind  is  that  dreadful  one — mortgage/' 

"  Who  says  *  mortgage '?  "  a  gruff  laughing  voice 
at  the  door  now  demanded. 

"  Oh,  Chris ! "  Mary  breathed  on  a  cadence  ®f 
deepest  relief.  "  Do  come  and  help  me.  These  two 
children  want  me  to  sign  a  long  paper,  and  I'm 
so  dreadfully  tired  with  nursing  I  don't  understand 
the  first  sentence.  And  besides,"  she  said,  rising, 
"  I've  got  to  go  in  and  see  what  the  doctor  thinks 
now  of  my  Blessing !  " 

"You  just  toddle  right  on,"  the  big  man  en- 
couraged. "  I've  the  whole  night  to  linger  in  case 
as  you  need  me." 

She  sped  toward  the  hall,  Chris's  fond  look  at- 
tending. A  moment  later  he  moved  one  hand  down 
in  the  direction  of  the  paper,  but  Trenham  was 


BLESSING  273 

before  him.  "  It's  a  mortgage  all  right,  Mr.  Laird. 
It's  something  that  Sophie  and  I  were  anxious  to 
put  over,  and  I  know  it  would  have  worked  out 
safely.  But  I  know,  too,  that  the  crimp  was  put 
in  when  you  came.  You  belong  to  the  old  genera- 
tion whose  one  motto  is  '  caution.'  This  thing's 
no  good  now,  and  had  better  be  burned." 

In  dead  silence  he  walked  to  the  grate,  and  thrust 
the  long,  crackling  sheets  down  to  the  heart  of  the 
fire,  then,  with  shoulders  squared  in  defiance,  he 
went  from  the  room. 

His  wife  made  as  if  to  follow.  "  A  minute  there, 
Sophie,  my  girl,"  came  Uncle  Chris's  check-rein. 
"  There's  a-something  I'm  minded  to  tell  you." 

"And  why  should  I  listen?"  she  answered,  her 
stormy  eyes  full  on  his  face.  "  You've  defeated 
our  plans  by  your  coming.  You  have  won.  What 
else  is  there  to  say?  " 

"  There  is  this  much,"  the  low  voice  persisted. 
"  That  paper  was  hurtful  to  Miss  Mary's  interests. 
Of  that  I'm  plumb  sure." 

"  I  will  not  believe  it,"  flashed  Mrs.  Trenham. 
"  Karl  saw  to  the  wording  of  it  himself,  and  it  was 
as  much  to  Mother's  advantage  as  to  mine." 

"  He  told  you  that,"  Chris  said  gently.  "  Well, 
your  Karl  is  a  powerful  hustler.  He's  bound  to 
get  rich  in  this  world — what's  the  thing  both  of 
you  yearns  for — but  sometimes  he  makes  the  mis- 
take of  going  so  fast  that  he  runs  into  himself  from 
behind  and  goes  sprawling.  That  there  mortgage," 


274  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  speaker  went  on,  noting  a  relaxing  of  Sophie's 
stiff  shoulders,  "  played  for  terribly  high  stakes. 
You  see,  them  devil  devices  are  part  of  your  Uncle 
Chris's  business.  In  fact — though  I  don't  want  it 
ever  mentioned — I  plumb  keep  myself  paupered  a- 
helping  poor  farmers  and  blacks  to  hold  on  to 
theirs. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  forgot  that  your  man  is  more  know- 
ing," Christopher  cried,  at  an  impatient  twitch  of 
silk  skirts.  "  Yet  even  with  him,  if  just  one  little 
cog  should  slip  loose  in  his  injine  of  finance — the 
whole  crowd,  you,  Miss  Mary  an'  Blessing — all  of 
you  would  be  nachally  ruined." 

Sophie's  flaunting  had  ceased.  The  man  knew 
that  his  words  had  made  an  impression. 

"  The  most  I've  been  thinking,"  he  now  recom- 
menced, "  is  that  risks  such  as  this  they  won't  do 
for  an  elderly  lady.  You  young  ones  can  crawl 
out  of  gulleys  and  pitfalls,  where  Miss  Mary  would 
slip  on  the  sides.  No,  my  girl,  I'm  purposed  to 
look  out  for  Miss  Mary  and  Blessing " 

"  My  own  child ! "  Sophie  cried  with  a  short 
angry  laugh. 

"  Yes,  she  is  yours,  in  a  manner,  but  the  whole 
town  says  it,  she's  far  more  enlikened  to  Miss 
Mary." 

Sophie  gave  a  resigned,  humorous  gesture. 

"  And  being  so  purposed,"  Chris  continued,  quite 
unruffled,  "  I  have  done  what  I  think  best  for  them, 
and  I'm  likely  to  keep  on  doing  so  till  I'm  toted 


BLESSING  275 

up  on  the  slope  of  Old  Painter's  Bald  in  my  coffin, 
as  I've  made  all  pervisions  by  will." 

Mary's  daughter  looked  down  upon  him,  her 
glowing  face  gentled.  Then  from  him  she  glanced 
to  the  fire,  where  the  last  blackened  fragments  were 
writhing,  white  ghosts  of  a  screed. 

"  I  know  you  mean  well,  Uncle  Chris,  and  it  may 

be  you  are  exactly  right,  but "  she  gave  him 

the  smile  of  the  old  impetuous  Sophie,  and  stretched 
both  hands  to  the  grate — "  for  me,  there  again  has 
dear  Hallonquist  Hall  been  burned  to  ashes." 


OHAPTEK  XXXII 

THE  NEW  YORKERS 

FOB  a  few  days  Karl  sulked ;  but  his  mood  did 
not  hold  very  long  in  the  face  of  his  wife's 
merry  banter. 

"  What's  the  '  dif '  Karlie  dear?  "  she  would  ask, 
her  brown  eyes  shining  lakes  of  concession.  "  After 
all,  we  have  time  and  to  spare  for  our  final  great 
stunt,  as  you  call  it — the  rebuilding  of  Hallonquist 
Hall. 

"  For  one  thing,"  she  continued,  "  it  will  save 
you  from  carrying  that  dreadful  load  of  interest. 
For  another,  I'm  going  to  beg  a  great  treat  for 
myself,  for  your  wife.  It's  a  thing  my  heart's  set 
upon.  Will  you  do  it,  my  precious,  for  me?  " 

"  For  you,  darling !  "  he  stammered.  This  love 
of  his  beautiful  wife  came  upon  him  at  times  in  a 
tempest.  "  Anything  that  I  own — anything !  You 
may  have  my  life  blood  if  you  want  it." 

"  Well,  I  do,"  Sophie  tenderly  laughed.  "  But 
not  spilled  and  all  messy.  I  want  it  in  the  very 
place  it  is  now — pounding  hard  in  your  blessed  old 
veins.  The  thing  I'm  going  to  ask  is  that,  on  your 
very  next  trip  to  New  York,  you  will  take  me." 

"  You  just  bet  your  sweet  life ! "  cried  the  man, 

276 


THE  NEW  YORKERS  277 

and  from  that  moment  onward  they  were  planning 
like  two  happy  children. 

During  the  intervening  months,  they  found 
abundant  excitement  in  having  the  carpenters 
"tack  on "  an  entirely  unsuitable  porte-cochere 
near  the  dining-room  windows,  greatly  darkening 
that  brave  little  apartment.  Next  a  spindling 
tower  sprung  up,  crowned  with  bright  red  shingles, 
and,  to  complete  the  changes,  a  parlour  bay-window 
was  thrust  out  from  the  house  with  such  violent 
newness  that  it  gave  the  effect  of  a  volcanic  up- 
heaval within. 

During  the  absence  of  the  Trenhams  in  New 
York,  the  cottage,  though  sadly  defaced,  once 
again  became  a  real  home  for  Mrs.  Hallonquist, 
and  for  Chris  the  friendliest  spot  on  the  whole 
friendly  earth. 

By  this  time  Mary  Baring  the  second  had  reached 
that  endearing  point  in  her  infant  career  when 
not  only  could  she  run  like  a  glimmer  of  light  on  a 
stream,  but  the  small  tongue  was  never  at  rest. 
Each  new  word  or  phrase  was  repeated,  the  tender 
lips  stripping  the  r's  off  like  thorns,  as  a  poet  once 
said  of  her  baby. 

The  young  travellers  came  back  from  New  York 
a  bit  unexpectedly.  They  had  outstayed  their 
original  date  by  a  fortnight. 

Sophie  stepped  from  Dunrobin's  one  taxi  with  a 
genuine  Avenue  air,  and  ran  up  the  long  lilac  walk 
to  where  her  mother  was  weeding  a  violet  bed  near 


278  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  house.  The  toiler  straightened  up  at  the  sound 
of  quick  footsteps. 

"  Sophie — you !  "  she  cried  out,  and  her  trowel 
went  to  the  gravel.  "  You  gave  me  no  hint  to  ex- 
pect you! 

"  But,  my  dear!  "  she  went  on  in  amazed  admira- 
tion, the  tribute  forced  from  her  at  sight  of  her 
daughter's  surpassing  beauty.  "  How  pretty  you 
look — how — how — queenly,  in  that  splendid  coat 
and  those  wonderful  furs!  They  bring  out  all  of 
your  colouring.  How  proud  of  you  Karl  must  have 
been ! " 

"  Yes,  he  was,"  Sophie  dimpled.  "  But  such  a 
jealous  old  goose,  bless  his  heart.  He  nearly  went 
wild  if  another  man  looked  toward  the  end  of  the 
room  where  I  was  sitting.  All  the  same,  he's  a 
darling!  Aren't  you  glad,  Mother  dear,  that  you 
finally  gave  your  consent?  " 

Before  Mary  could  answer  this  somewhat  embar- 
rassing question,  her  companion  spared  her  the 
trouble. 

"  It's  all  wrong,"  Sophie  exclaimed,  the  bright 
eyes  lashing  over  the  tawdry,  amorphous  facade 
of  the  house.  "  The  whole  business  is  wrong,"  she 
decreed  in  a  tone  of  chagrin.  "  That  tower  and 
awful  cupola  on  top — they  are  vicious — and  that 
knock-kneed  porte-cochere  is  a  disgrace!  Why, 
oh  why,  didn't  Karl  take  me  North  before  we  put 
up  those  horrors?  It  would  have  saved  us  such 
humiliating  blunders ! " 


THE  NEW  YORKERS  279 

Karl  had  followed  his  wife,  both  hands  strained 
to  hold  much  handsome  new  luggage  with  con- 
spicuous initialing  in  silver  on  the  sides  of  each 
piece.  He,  too,  stared  at  the  wretched  building. 
"  Gee,  it's  fierce ! "  he  remarked,  and  moved  for- 
ward. 

From  the  time  of  this  first  Northern  visit,  Mrs. 
Hallonquist  dated  a  series  of  notable  changes  in 
her  daughter. 

Sophie  acquired,  as  it  were,  a  new  poise,  and 
having  attained  it,  began  a  deliberate  hardening  to 
which  soon  a  high  polish  was  added. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  town,  Mr.  Trenham  was  known 
to  have  made  irritatingly  frequent  allusions  to 
"  good  old  Wall  Street,  the  place  where  Big  Things 
were  put  over."  Upon  the  mind  of  Karl,  as  upon 
myriads  more  of  the  men  of  his  country,  the  ad- 
jective "  Big  "  was  beginning  to  glow  like  the  signs 
above  Broadway  at  night. 

One  subject  in  common,  upon  which  husband  and 
wife  loved  to  dwell,  was  the  ever  increasing  in- 
timacy between  themselves  and  their  foreign  friend, 
the  Count  Echstrom. 

"  Such  manner !  Such  charm.  Such  intense 
savoire-faire! "  Sophie  cried,  with  her  gaze  on  the 
ceiling. 

"  I've  been  told,"  Karl  solemnly  proffered,  "  that 
the  court  of  Sweden  couldn't  get  on  without  him." 

Chris,  ensconced  in  his  big  chair  paying  an  eve- 
ning call,  indulged  in  a  wink  toward  Miss  Mary. 


280  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Then,  that  being  the  case,"  he  drawled  out, 
"  how's  it  happen  they  let  the  cock  go,  to  come 
strutting  about  amongst  our  barnyards?  " 

"  He  won't  stop  long,"  both  young  voices  as- 
sured him. 

"  The  Count  is  here,"  explained  Sophie,  with 
hauteur,  "  because  dear  King  Gustave  has  sent  him 
to  buy  up  some  metals  and  things  for  his  govern- 
ment. Karlie  first  met  him  in  the  office  of  a  big 
copper  broker,  and  a  mutual  friend  told  us  that 
not  only  is  Count  Echstrom  one  of  the  high  aristo- 
crats, but  is  distantly  connected  with  the  royal 
family  of  his  country." 

"  And  with  that  of  Germany,  too,"  threw  in  Tren- 
nam.  "  You  remember,  my  dear,"  he  continued 
with  a  fond  look  toward  his  wife,  "  how  at  dinner 
that  last  night  at  the  Waldorf  he  let  slip,  without 
seeming  to  know  it,  the  fact  of  his  kinship — blood 
kinship,  Mother — to  the  Kaiser  himself,  the  great 
German  Emperor." 

He  paused,  for  response  or  exclamation  upon  the 
part  of  his  audience,  but  as  nothing  was  heard, 
Sophie  took  up  the  wondrous  tale. 

"  The  Count  is  so  modest,"  she  purred.  "  When 
I  taxed  him  with  his  exalted  rank  in  Sweden,  he 
tried  to  deny  it.  But  afterward,  when  he  and  I 
were  alone  sitting  on  one  of  those  splendid  Oriental 
ottomans " 

"  Yes,  I  knows  the  things  well — I've  been  there," 
interjected  Chris  with  unwelcome  assurance.  "  I've 


THE  NEW  YORKERS  281 

roosted  on  them  benches  myself.  They  lines  the 
two  sides  of  that  passage  they  calls  Peacock  Alley 
— though  in  fact  it's  more  for  the  pea-hens.  I've  set 
on  the  darn  things  in  turn,  just  to  try  them,  and 
I'd  just  as  lieve  sit  on  a  cow." 

Sophie  tossed  her  dark  head,  and  abandoning  the 
struggle  to  impress  her  audience  rose  to  say  good- 
night. At  the  door,  with  her  hand  on  the  lintel, 
she  paused  to  fling  back  across  her  shoulder,  "  You 
may  soon  have  a  chance  to  see  Count  Echstrom, 
Mother,  for  he  has  promised  to  visit  us  here  in 
Dunrobin." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  BUILDERS 

THE  number  of  Karl's  trips  both  to  the  West 
and  the  North  increased.  On  few  of  the 
latter  did  he  go  without  taking  his  eager  and 
lovely  young  wife. 

Apart  from  the  external  splendours  of  that  great 
American  city,  New  York,  which  the  humblest  is 
free  to  enjoy,  the  Trenhams  were  now  in  the  way 
of  making  acquaintances.  And  these  new  friends 
were  all  of  them  in  a  class  so  gay,  wealthy  and 
hospitable,  that  the  still  unsophisticated  South- 
erners might  well  be  pardoned  for  accepting  them 
at  their  own  merry  valuation. 

Invitations  for  various  week-end  visits,  began  to 
tingle  over  the  telephone  in  a  certain  private  suite 
of  a  smart  hotel.  After  several  glorious  experiences 
down  on  Long  Island,  out  to  Tuxedo,  and  up  Green- 
wich way,  the  Virginia  couple  became  convinced 
that  the  one  thing  needful  for  Dunrobin — now  af- 
fectionately referred  to  as  their  dear  little  old- 
fashioned  home-town —  was  the  possession  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment  of  a  showy  modern 
Country  Club. 


THE  BUILDERS  283 

The  younger  Whitlocks  at  once  agreed  to  back 
the  worthy  enterprise,  and  subscriptions  to  the 
full  amount  were  rapidly  raised.  Almost  auto- 
matically, Karl  became  chairman  of  the  building 
committee,  and  Sophie  the  lady  in  sole  charge  of 
entertainments. 

Naturally — at  least  to  the  Trenhams — the  local 
architect  was  brushed  aside  as  non-existent,  and  a 
"  crackajack  from  the  Avenue  "  (Karl's  own  words) 
was  imported  through  the  kind  offices  of  their  now 
ardent  friend,  Count  Echstrom,  and  it  was  agreed 
between  Sophie  and  Karl  that  the  New  Yorker 
should  at  the  same  time  draw  plans  for  the  im- 
mediate rebuilding  of  Hallonquist  Hall. 

Mary  turned  her  face  away  when  the  wild-rose 
vines  and  the  honeysuckles  were  stripped  off  from 
the  piles  of  peacefully  mouldering  brick  to  make 
way  for  the  erection  of  a  French  Chateau.  To  her, 
it  was  all  of  it  a  nightmare.  She  resented  the 
placing  of  a  foreign  imitation  where  the  Hallon- 
quist homestead  had  lifted  walls  of  such  simple 
dignity.  Yet  how  was  she  to  prevent  the  desecra- 
tion? 

On  the  forenoon  of  a  certain  April  day,  to  be 
exact,  the  fifth  of  the  month,  1916,  Letitia  Gaither, 
a  woman  no  longer  young,  but  none  the  less 
pleasant  to  look  at,  even  attractive,  because  the 
years  of  her  life  had  spread  a  tranquil  texture 
over  her  fine,  strong  face,  ran  down  her  long  hall 
steps  to  the  lower  floor,  a  small  hat  thrust  on  any- 


284  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

how,  and,  as  she  ran,  pulling  at  her  second  worn 
glove. 

She  had  scarcely  reached  the  level  of  the  en- 
trance, when,  from  the  service  quarter  of  the  house, 
Aunt  Ossie  emerged  tugging,  in  ludicrous  simili- 
tude, at  her  second  glove,  and  throwing  back 
further  orders  to  the  kitchen,  through  a  half -opened 
door. 

"  Why,  Auntie !  "  Letty  cried,  stopped  short  at 
the  unusual  vision.  "  I  didn't  know  that  you  were 
going  out.  I  didn't  know  that  you  ever  left  the 
house  so  early  in  the  day." 

"I  don't.  Not  often,"  Ossie  admitted.  There 
was  a  deep,  suppressed  excitement  in  her  face. 
"  But  this  is  something  special.  I  am  going,  Niece 
Letty,  to  the  first  real  business  meeting  of  my  life." 

"  You  mean  to  the  Gaither  shot  tower?  " 

"  How  did  you  know?  " 

"  I  happened  to  overhear  Father  at  the  breakfast 
table  saying  to  Uncle  Chris  that  the  big  annual 
meeting  was  to  be  held:  and  there  was  something 
else — about  Karl  Trenham — that  I  did  not  catch." 

A  grim  reflection  of  a  smile  flickered  on  Ossie's 
lips.  "  And  unless  I'm  much  mistaken,"  she  said 
with  a  sort  of  inner  chuckle,  "  young  Trenham  is 
going  to  find  that  there  is  something  at  this  meeting 
that's  out  of  his  power  to  catch.  And  where  are  you 
off  to,  Letty?  " 

"  Why,  Sophie  insists  that  I  come  out  to  her  house 
at  once,  and  I  know  it's  to  pin  me  down  to  going  to 


THE  BUILDERS  285 

that  Country  Club  opening  tomorrow  afternoon. 
But  that  I  won't  do,"  Letty  concluded  with  de- 
cision. 

"  Why  go  there  at  all,  then — to  the  Trenham's 
house,  I  mean?  "  Ossie  inquired,  a  trifle  icily. 

"  Oh,  I  can  spare  half  an  hour,  I  suppose.  And 
Sophie  is  hard  to  refuse." 

Mrs.  Trenhain  was  in  her  bedroom.  The  ample 
apartment  was  a  perfume  of  flowers. 

"  Gracious,  it's  not  your  birthday !  "  Letty  cried 
in  amaze,  as  her  eyes  went  from  a  huge  glass  vase 
of  abnormally  stemmed  "  American  Beauties  "  to  a 
veritable  bed  of  moss-set  lilies-of -the- valley ;  and 
onto  the  gold,  crystal  and  silver  strewn  dresser, 
where  a  dome  of  violets  bloomed  that  might  have 
put  to  shame  the  largest  of  Dutch  cabbages. 

"  No,"  Sophie  laughed,  diving  into  a  box  where 
gleaming  folds  of  satin  showed  through  tissue  wrap- 
pings, "  all  this  hilarity  simply  means  that  the 
Country  Club  is  to  have  its  big  housewarming  to- 
morrow evening,  but  you  must  sit  down — that  is — 
if  you  can  find  a  place,  for  I'm  going  to  scold  you." 

The  smiling  Letitia  finally  cleared  a  seat  among 
the  tumbled  silks  and  laces  on  the  bed,  and  turn- 
ing to  her  mentor  demanded,  "  Well !  " 

"  It  isn't  well,  and  you  know  it.  It's  very,  very 
ill.  You  are  my  best  friend,  and  here  I've  been  told 
that  you  refuse  to  be  present  at  my  most  dazzling 
triumph,  the  Club  reception." 

Letty's  smile  lost  its  brightness.    "  I  was  afraid 


286  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

that  was  what  you  wanted,  Sophie.  I'd  love  to 
run  up  here  and  see  you  all  dressed  before  you  start 
— are  you  to  wear  this  white  and  silver?  " 

"  Yes,  with  some  touches  of  pale  green  georgette, 
also  embroidered.  But  we're  not  talking  dress.  I 
want  you  at  our  party.  Echstrom  arrives  tonight, 
and — -" 

Letitia  cut  in.  "  That's  one  reason  why  I'm  not 
going.  I  can't  be  in  the  room  with  that  dreadful 
man,  and  not  feel  I'm  shut  up  with  a  snake.  No, 
Sophie  dearest,  I  know  how  delightful  your  party 
will  be,  but  my  heart,  my  mind  and  soul,  are 
steeped  in  such  different  things.  I've  a  great  piece 
of  news — but  I  hardly  know  whether  you'll  care  to 
hear  it." 

"  Of  course  I'll  care,"  countered  Sophie.  "  You 
are  my  best  friend  on  earth." 

Letty  hesitated.  The  look  on  her  pale  uplifted 
face  was  so  unusual,  it  hinted  so  strongly  of  an 
inner,  newborn  beauty,  that  her  hostess  went 
toward  the  seated  figure,  and  stood  still.  The 
visitor  remained  motionless  as  if  expecting  her, 
then  all  at  once  reached  up  and,  lifting  needle- 
pricked  ringless  hands,  took  both  of  the  other's 
jewelled  ones  in  an  affectionate  grasp.  "  Today 
I  have  gained  my  heart's  desire,  Sophie.  In  two 
more  weeks  I  am  to  start  for  France." 

"  Pshaw !  "  Sophie  exclaimed,  flinging  away,  ex- 
actly as  she  used  to  do  in  the  old  schooldays.  "  I 
thought  it  was  something  pleasant." 


THE  BUILDERS  287 

"  No,"  Letty  breathed,  her  grey  eyes  looking  far. 
"  It  isn't  precisely — pleasant — but  it  is  right  from 
—God." 

Mrs.  Trenham  felt  a  sob  rise  in  her  throat,  and 
needed  to  bite  the  full  and  crimson  lips.  She  opened 
them  now  for  speaking,  but,  at  the  instant,  Blessing 
danced  lightly  into  the  room,  followed  by  the 
adored  and  never  distant  '  G'an'muddie.' 

"  Aunt  Letty ! "  the  child  cried  out,  running 
straight  into  the  arms  of  the  visitor.  Finally  re- 
leased from  the  embrace,  Blessing  moved  around 
a  few  paces,  then  all  at  once  the  bank  of  valley  - 
lilies  caught  her  glance.  She  ran  to  it,  burying 
her  small  face  in  its  waxen  chimes. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  they  heard  her  whisper,  "  where  did 
you  come  from,  angel-flowers?  How  did  you  climb 
up  the  stairs?  If  I  was  only  little — not  a  gweat 
big  dirl,  I'd  cwawl  wite  in  'mongst  you  and  wait 
till  the  fwawies  came." 

All  three  pairs  of  adult  eyes  were  turned  toward 
the  unconscious  Blessing  when,  suddenly,  with  a 
rough  nervous  jerk,  the  bedroom  door  flew  open  and 
Karl,  crimson  and  half  distraught,  as  it  would 
seem,  ran  toward  his  wife,  then  seeing  the  others, 
came  to  a  shivering  stop. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES 

THE  room  cleared  as  swiftly  and  as  silently  as 
a  dissolving  scene  upon  a  "  movie  "  film. 

Karl,  dazed  and  staring,  appeared  to  be 
unconscious  of  environment  except  in  the  moment 
when  little  Blessing  would  have  tiptoed  past  him. 
He  gazed  hard  at  the  child — pushed  back  the  fair 
hair  from  his  forehead  in  the  gesture  that  is  a 
wordless  prayer  for  clearer  vision — seemed  all  at 
once  to  recognize  her,  then  caught  her  up  into  his 
arms,  kissing  the  small,  fragrant  cheek  voraciously. 

Sophie  went  to  the  door  with  Letitia,  and  as  the 
latter  whispered  her  final  muted  farewell,  closed 
the  white  panel  softly.  Blessing  now  demanded 
exit,  and  when  she  too  had  gone,  Sophie  deliberately 
turned  the  ornate  key. 

Her  husband  gave  a  low  hoarse  cry  that,  some- 
how, conveyed  his  approbation  of  her  deed,  and 
then,  suddenly  wavering  on  his  feet,  plunged  face 
down  into  the  spread-out  finery  on  the  bed.  Sophie 
did  not  attempt  to  check  him.  She  leaned  above 
the  convulsed  form,  her  whole  attitude  eloquent 
with  tenderness. 

288 


A  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES  289 

"  What  is  it,  Daddy  dear? "  she  questioned. 
"  What  has  gone  wrong,  my  dearest?  " 

"  That  mountain-cat,  that  she-devil !  "  Karl  got 
out.  "  She's  been  on  my  track  ever  since  I  jilted 
Mildred.  I  believe  she's  got  me  now." 

"  Whom  can  you  mean?  Not  dried-up  old  Miss 
Ossie?  " 

"  Venom  don't  dry,  at  least  not  the  kind  she 
holds." 

"  But  what How  on  earth  can  such  a  person 

harm  you?  You,  darling,  who  almost  have  this 
little  town  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand?  Surely  you 
are  mistaken." 

"  Do  I  look  mistaken?  "  Karl  snarled  savagely, 
as  he  sprung  up  to  a  sitting  position,  and  positively 
glared  toward  his  wife. 

She  needed  to  put  forth  all  her  powers  of  self- 
control.  This  dull,  distorted  face  with  its  reddened 
eyelids,  was  not  that  of  her  gay  and  carefree  Karl. 

"  Come  over  here,  my  precious,  worried  boy," 
she  coaxed  him.  "  Over  to  my  chaise  longue  by  the 
window,  where  the  sweet  air  is  blowing  in.  It 
smells  of  violets  already,  wild  little  sisters  to  those 
splendid  ones  you  sent."  With  these  words  she 
nodded  toward  her  dresser. 

In  speaking  she  pulled,  half-playfully  yet  with 
a  certain  strength,  at  the  limp  right  arm  which 
dangled  from  the  bed. 

The  man  obeyed  her  clumsily. 

Daring  no  more  than  a  single  rueful  glance  at 


290  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  priceless  satin  he  had  wallowed  in,  Sophie,  still 
smiling  and  cooing  tender  words,  got  him  across 
the  room. 

Once  clasped  in  the  soft  resilience  of  the  brocaded 
chair,  the  man's  strained  nerves  began  gradually 
to  relax. 

"  She's  done  it,"  Karl  repeated  angrily.  "  She 
and  that  tarheeled  brother  with  his  bugs " 

Evidently  this  one  thought,  this  new  and  ter- 
rible resentment,  filled  the  entire  concave  of  his 
firmament. 

After  the  briefest  self-communion,  Sophie  de- 
cided it  was  best  to  win  the  whole  story  gradu- 
ally. 

She  seated  herself  close  to  him,  smoothing  the 
moist,  hot  forehead.  "  Now  tell  me  all  the  trouble, 
dear.  Maybe  I'll  find  a  way  to  help.  When  did 
you  find  it  out?  " 

"  Only  just  now,"  he  answered.  "  When  I  got 
there,  to  our  annual  stockholders'  meeting,  I  saw 
to  my  horror  that  at  Cousin  James's  left  elbow  was 
sitting  that  grinning  old  maid,  ready  to  find  me 
out." 

He  paused  for  a  renewed  paroxysm  of  fury  and 
strong  language,  at  which  the  other  asked  him 
gently,  "  How  did  it  happen  that  a  woman — and* 
of  all,  Miss  Ossie — had  any  business  there?  " 

"  That's  the  whole  point !  During  my  trips  up 
North,  it  seems  that  she  and  her  brother,  followed 
by  all  the  old  female  dead-losses  of  the  town,  rushed 


A  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES  291 

Cousin  James,  demanding  stock  in  the  tower 
works." 

"  But,  Karl,"  Sophie  cried,  amazed,  "  I'm  sure 
I  heard  you  say  that  more  stock  had  been  put  on 
the  market,  and  you  were  anxious  to  have  it 
sold." 

"  That's  all  right  too,"  he  conceded.  "  We  needed 
to  increase  our  capital,  but  any  man  with  one  grain 
of  business  sense,  would  have  looked  out  for  who 
he  sold  the  shares  to." 

His  listener  was  puzzled,  but  knowing  with  whom 
she  had  to  deal,  thought  it  best  to  remain  silent, 
retaining  a  childlike  gaze. 

"  Of  course  the  old  demon  had  it  up  her  sleeve," 
Trenham  now  burst  forth,  proving  his  wife's  judg- 
ment correct.  "  Would  you  believe  it,  Sophie,  that 
aged  hell-cat  has  studied  up  company  laws,  until, 
by  God,  she  could  stand  a  grilling  in  the  Supreme 
Court  of  this  country!  What  she's  been  up  to  all 
along  has  been  to  change  the  tower  works  from 
an  unlimited  concern  into  an  I.  N.  C.  corpora- 
tion ! " 

"But  why?  What  for?  Even  a  student  like 
Miss  Ossie  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  just  for  fun." 

"  For  fun !  Great  God,  no,  as  you  soon  will  see !  " 
the  other  groaned.  "  Her  purpose  has  been  clear 
enough.  It's  all  to  ruin  me.  I'm  no  longer  the 
autocratic  boss  of  the  concern,  but  a  mere  servant 
whose  every  move  must  be  passed  upon  by  a  board 
of  suspicious  enemies." 


292  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Sophie  shook  her  head.  "  I  fear,"  she  challenged 
sweetly,  "  that  somebody  will  have  to  explain." 

Trenham  regarded  her  indulgently,  and,  with  an 
arm  flung  out,  drew  her  against  his  shoulder. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,  my  pet.  All  of  the  big 
deals  that  Echstrom  and  I  have  been  putting  over 
for  a  year  past  have  pivoted,  more  or  less,  on  the 
credit  of  the  company.  In  times  like  these — when 
every  sort  of  barn  is  being  turned  into  a  munition 
factory — our  shot  tower  is  a  veritable  diamond 
mine." 

"  I  see,"  she  nestled.  "  And  I  have  gathered  a 
nice  bunch  of  the  diamonds.  Go  on." 

"  So  long  as  the  company  was  unlimited,  with  me 
as  director,  sole  manager  and  boss-at-large, 
Echstrom  and  I  found  a  convenient  way  of  help- 
ing ourselves  by  using  its  credit  freely." 

"  But  how  has  poor  Miss  Ossie's  coming  in  al- 
tered things?  " 

"  You  don't  see  yet?  Bet  you  I  do,"  the  man 
said,  rising  again  and  holding  her  away.  "  She  put 
in  all  those  shares,  of  widows  and  orphans,  and 
withered  virgins  like  herself,  and  came  to  this  im- 
portant meeting  with  the  sole  determination  to 
kick  me  out  of  the  saddle." 

"  I  know  I'm  awfully  stupid.    Kiss  me,  dear." 

He  could  not  resist  the  red  lips  held  so  near,  and 
their  pressure  steadied  him.  "  Of  course  you  don't 
understand,  my  precious,  and  there's  no  reason  you 
should.  But  what  it  means  to  me,  and  the  ruin  it 


A  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES  293 

threatens,  is  that  I  no  longer  have  the  power  to 
put  up  the  whole  tower  works  as  a  stake." 

To  this  his  wife  said  nothing,  only  kissed  him 
again. 

"  Echstrom  is  due  tonight,"  Karl  muttered  as  if 
to  himself.  "  If  I  were  sure  he  wouldn't  tear  up 
the  road  about  it " 

"  Now  don't  you  worry  about  what  Echstrom 
thinks,"  Sophie  cried  gaily.  "  I  can  twist  him 
around  my  little  finger  any  day.  I  tell  you  what 
we'll  do — after  luncheon  we'll  drive  once  more  to 
the  Club  to  see  that  the  last  thing  is  in  order  for  the 
party — then  we  will  keep  on  driving,  come  home 
to  the  kind  of  dinner  you  like  best,  and  go  to  bed 
early  so  you  can  rest  up  for  tomorrow's  stress." 

"  Me,  go  to  bed  with  that  German  wolf  coming!  " 
Trenham  exclaimed  harshly.  "  No,  I've  my  orders 
to  meet  him  at  the  train." 

After  a  meal  which  he  barely  tasted,  filling  all 
needs  with  cocktails  and  black  coffee,  Karl  sent  for 
Fischer — the  perfect  new  chauffeur  obtained  from 
New  York  through  the  kind  aid  of  Count  Echstrom 
— and  drove  to  his  office,  sending  the  car  back  for 
his  wife's  use. 

Alone  she  went  to  the  Club,  for  Blessing  was  still 
at  the  Red  Cross  rooms  with  her  loved  Aunt  Letty, 
and  Mary  refused  to  go  with  her  daughter. 

The  very  effective  decorations  were  in  place,  and 
tomorrow,  for  the  great  reception  young  girls  would 
be  at  hand.  Sophie  had  planned  their  costumes  to 


294  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

the  last  fluttering  ribbon,  and  intended  to  use  them 
as  one  might  flowers  in  the  general  decorative 
scheme. 

Her  own  house  was  unusually  deserted  when 
Mrs.  Trenham  returned  home,  and  longing  for 
human  speech  she  sought  out  Tempey. 

Just  as  she  set  her  slender  slippered  feet  on  the 
linoleum  of  the  kitchen  floor,  the  pendent  clock  that 
hung  over  the  stout  table  where  Tempey's  famous 
beaten  biscuit  were  pounded  out  struck  a  sharp 
nasal  "  five." 

The  mistress  started.  Somehow,  the  stroke 
which  should  have  been  familiar,  sounded  queer. 
"  Look  here,  Mrs.  K.  G.  Trenham,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  you  too  can't  indulge  in  nerves.  Karl  has 
the  market  cornered." 

Tempey,  seated  by  the  table,  with  a  pan  of  early 
peas,  glanced  up  and  smiled  to  see  her  nursling. 

"Mammy,  Mammy,  I'm  worried,"  said  Sophie, 
as  she  drew  up  a  straight-backed  chair,  and  set  her 
elbows  on  the  spotless  board. 

Mammy  emitted  a  bursting  sound  not  unlike  that 
of  a  porpoise. 

"  Gowanaway  f 'um  here  wid  dat  talk  of  worryin'. 
Ain't  no  young  lady  on  dis  yearth  what's  got  mo' 
good  things  dan  you." 

"  It's  true,"  Sophie  agreed,  "  and  I  do  appreciate 
the  splendid  things  I  have.  But  where's  the  fun 
of  it,  if  my  husband  is  going  to  break  down  under 
the  strain  of  giving  them  to  me?  " 


fA  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES  295 

Tempey's  face  sobered.    Here  was  something  real, 

"  Even  Karl's  fine  health  can't  stand  such  ter- 
rible ill-treatment,"  his  wife  went  on  lugubriously. 
"  Coffee,  cigarettes,  cocktails  and  highballs  all  day 
long  with  precious  little  food — and  after  that  more 
coffee.  Oh,  I  have  seen  him  stealing  in  here  to 
you,  and  you  oughtn't  to  let  him  have  it  so  strong, 
Mammy.  It's  up  to  you  and  me  to  have  it  stopped." 

Mammy's  embarrassment  merged  for  the  moment 
to  a  deep  concern. 

"  Yas,  my  baby-lam',  I  knows  it,  but  how  is  we 
two  po'  weaker  vessels  to  make  min-folks  behave 
dey selves?  We  like  to  r'ar  about  an'  say  *  You  mus' 
do  dis,'  an'  *  You  got  to  do  dat,'  but  all  de  time 
we  feels  de  mins  [men]  is  got  dey  splay -foots  right 
on  us  'oomen's  neck.  De  Lawd  Hisself  is  fixed  de 
world  up  dat  way,  an'  what  kin  we  po'  an'  perishin' 
bodies  do  'ginst  de  Lawd?  "  This  time  her  sigh 
was  of  such  volume  that  a  green  mass  of  pea-hulls 
scurried  to  the  floor. 

"  I  knows  what  you  is  suffrin',  Mammy  knows," 
she  soothed,  wagging  her  turbaned  head.  "  I  goes 
th'oo  it  all  wid  Grief.  Is  you  an  idee  I  kin  make 
dat  nigger  take  one  draw  de  less  fum  dat  stinkin' 
pipe  o'  hissen?  No  Lawd,  I  can't  not  onless  I  has 
a  poker  or  a  broomstick  in  my  hands — an',  mo'  dan 
dis,  each  time  my  back  is  turnt,  dar  is  Grief  dreen- 
in'  of  de  coffee-pot.  An',  dat  isn't  all." 

Her  tone  was  so  significant,  so  pleading  to  be 
questioned,  that  Sophie,  smothering  a  smile,  asked 


296  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

with  affected  gravity,  "  What  worse  could  any  man 
do?" 

Mammy  looked  all  about,  even  to  peering  far 
beneath  the  table  as  though  her  spouse  could  be 
Mding  there,  then,  after  one  more  glance  over 
the  ceiling,  confessed. 

"  He's  ;ee-lous,  old  Grief  is.  He's  dat  ongodly 
jee-lous,  dat  I  ain't  dasn't  raise  a  prayer  in  my  own 
black  church  when  de  Reverind  Drake  is  presid- 
ia'/ 

"  I  had  my  own  suspicions  that  Uncle  Grief 
wasn't  any  too  fond  of  Drake,  but  isn't  the  Rever- 
end Pig  to  be  sent  off  to  a  far  distant  puddle — I 
beg  your  pardon,  to  another  church?"  inquired 
Sophie. 

"  Yes."  Tempey  drooped.  "  He's  goin'.  Dat 
sancterfied  young  Christian  man  is  druv  out  by 
de  mins  he's  preached  to.  De  sisters,  dey  likes 
him,  but  de  brederin' — dey  says  he's  a  heap  wus 
dan  Solermun  when  hit  comes  to  wives. 

"  But  speakin'  o'  devils,"  she  broke  off,  staring 
intently  toward  the  door  where  a  shuffling  sound 
was  heard,  "  Dar  he  is  now.  Whar  you  bin  all 
dese  hours?  "  she  demanded,  as  Grief's  white  woolly 
head  peered  cautiously  within. 

Mrs.  Trenham  had  risen,  but  paused  to  hear 
Grief's  defence. 

"  Whar  I  done  bin,  you  ax  me?  Howdy,  Miss 
Sophie,"  he  thrust  in  with  a  scrape  and  a  bow. 


A  CHAPTER  IN  NERVES  297 

"  Proud  for  to  see  you  thrivin'.  Whar  I  done  bin, 
you  sister  in  de  Lawd?  "  he  glared  at  his  wife. 

"  Dat's  what  I  'quested,"  Tempey  slowly  re- 
turned, reaching  meanwhile  a  stealthy  hand  toward 
her  biscuit  roller.  "  Whar  you  done  bin  dis  long?  " 

Before  replying,  Grief,  with  nonchalant  assur- 
ance, drew  his  three-legged  stool  near  the  stove  and 
shamelessly  extracted  his  old  pipe. 

"  Me  an'  de  yodder  brederin',  we  is  met  in  de 
scrub-pine  grove  beside  de  house  of  Gawd,  fer  to 
'cuss  out  ways  an'  means  fer  a  welcome  farewell 
party  we's  aimin'  to  give  Pig  Drake  next  Monday 
when  he  leaves.'' 

Even  Sophie  could  realize  that  Grief's  chuckle 
accompanying  these  words  was  uncanny  and  de- 
risive. 

"  We  sistern',  we'll  take  keer  of  de  farewell 
banket,"  Tempey  bluffed.  "We  is  pledged  two 
dozen  chickens " 

"  All  dat  we  wants  is  dey  fedders,"  Grief  piped 
up  shrilly. 

"  An'  we's  gwinter  have  a  bonfiah." 

"  So's  we!"  shrieked  a  demoniac  Grief.  "  Wid 
a  sugar-bilin'  pot  on  de  top  of  hit,  all  filt  wid  bub- 
blin'  tar " 

Tempey  surrendered. 

"  Now,  in  de  name  of  Jesus,  you  devils  ain't 
gwinter  tar  an'  fedder  dat  sainted  man " 

"  'Pens  on  de  sisters  an'  dey  own  cavortin's  when 


298  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

de  partin'  time  comes,"  remarked  Grief  sagely. 
"  But  de  ingrediments  will  be  on  de  spot." 

Sophie  withdrew.  Tempey  arose,  but  there  was 
no  pride  in  her  bearing. 

"  Grief,  honey-lam',"  she  simpered.  "  Don't  you 
want  yo'  ol'  lady  to  bile  you  a  nice  big  pot  of 
•coffee,  spankin'  fresh?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916 

A  two  o'clock  the  next  morning,  in  what 
seemed  to  Sophie  the  dead  of  a  black,  startled 
night,  she  woke,  frightened,  to  hear  a  man's 
footsteps  blundering  about  in  her  unlighted  room. 

"  Karl,  Karl  ? "  she  asked  sharply,  "  is  that 
you?  " 

"  Yesh,  my  love,"  he  said  thickly,  with  a  half- 
drunken  laugh.  "Were  you  shp-shpec-ting  any 
one  else?  " 

Catching  back  a  low  cry  of  disgust,  Sophie  sprang 
from  the  bed  and  snapped  on  the  nearest  electric 
light. 

Her  husband  looked  foolishly  toward  her. 

"  Don't  be  mad  with  your  hubby,  dear  girl," 
he  began,  pawing  his  way  across  to  her  side. 
"  Had  to  stay  up  with  Echstrom,  you  know.  Had 
to  jolly  him  'long.  He's  a  sport,  Echstrom  is. 
Says  he  don't  care  a  tinker's  damn  'bout  the  old 
shot  tower.  We're  dealin'  with  world-wide  affairs, 
Ech.  an'  me.  Our  wires  are  laid,  and  in  'bout  three 
days  more,  so  Ech.  says,  if  that  fool  of  a  college  don 
up  at  the  White  House  don't  get  smarty,  and  spoil 

299 


300  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

our  game,  we'll  pull  off  a  deal  will  make  Wall 
Street  envious. 

"  Those  were  Echstrom's  words,  and  he  beat  me 
on  the  back  like  a  real  American.  He's  a  shport, 
Echstrom  is,  a  sure-'nough,  dead-game  shport.  We 
were  talkin'  of  you,  too,  my  darling.  Eccy 
said " 

"  At  least  spare  me  the  Count's  personal  opinion 
of  me,"  Sophie  cried  in  a  voice  that  stopped  all 
further  disclosures. 

The  Country  Club  reception  was  to  start 
promptly  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  At  an  earlier 
hour,  members  of  the  several  committees  met  for 
a  luncheon  party.  Karl,  at  one  end  of  the  beauti- 
fully appointed  table,  had  Mrs.  James  Garfield 
Whitlock  on  his  right,  while  at  the  other  end 
Sophie,  resplendent  in  a  Paris  frock  and  hat,  and 
wearing  a  corsage-bouquet  of  violets  and  orchids, 
had  as  her  guest  of  honour  the  affable  Count 
Echstrom. 

Never  had  the  accomplished  foreigner  appeared 
to  greater  advantage,  charming  every  one,  men  and 
women  alike,  by  his  sunny  friendliness  and  his 
astounding  knowledge  of  international  affairs. 

Gaily  protesting  that  to  drink  champagne  so 
early  in  the  day  was  a  crime,  a  solecism,  Karl, 
urged  on  by  Echstrom's  whispers,  continued  order- 
ing the  heady  wine. 

That  point  of  hectic  pleasure  had  been  reached 
where  the  foolish  laughter  was  loud,  and  the  stories 


APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916  301 

told  were  of  an  increasingly  doubtful  character, 
when  a  grinning  waiter  at  Karl's  ear  murmured, 
"  Long-distance,  Mister  Karl.  Hit's  'way  fum 
Washington,  an'  seys  dey  wants  Mister  Count 
Extra." 

Echstrom  sprang  up.  "  With  all  excuses  pos- 
sible," he  bowed,  letting  his  eyes  brush  amorously 
each  fair  one  in  turn,  lingering  last  of  all  upon 
Sophie. 

A  few  moments  later  the  same  waiter  tiptoed  in. 
"  De  Count  he  axes  you  to  jine  him,  Mister 
Karl." 

The  two  men  remained  away  so  long  that  Sophie 
began  to  fidget.  Through  the  strained  silence, 
those  at  the  table  could  hear  the  starting  of  an 
automobile. 

"  Why,  there  goes  our  car  down  the  hill,"  cried 
Mrs.  Trenham,  staring  through  the  nearby  window. 
"  But  surely,"  she  added,  her  rosy  face  paling, 
"  Karl  wouldn't  go  like  that  without  a  word  to 
me ! " 

"  No,  Karl  wouldn't,  like  that,"  said  an  un- 
natural voice.  Turning,  she  saw  him  coming  slowly 
across  the  polished  heart-pine  floor. 

"  Well,  Wilson's  done  it !  "  he  proclaimed,  sink- 
ing down  weakly  to  his  former  place.  "  The  jig 
is  up.  We're  in  it !  " 

"  Not  in  the  war — tell  us  quickly,  Trenham ! " 
Whitlock  cried. 

"  War  was  declared  at  two  o'clock  today." 


302  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  Thank  God !  "  and  across  the  demolished  table 
Whitlock's  wife's  eyes  said  as  fervently,  "  Thank 
God!" 

"  But  where  is  Echstrom — why  did  he  have  to 
go?  "  Sophie  demanded. 

"  He  had  to  wire  to  Washington  at  once.  He 
wouldn't  trust  this  new  booth  to  get  the  message 
straight.  Oh,  it's  awful — simply  awful !  " 

The  little  company  quickly  broke  up,  the  lunch- 
eon guests  escaping  with  other  things  to  think  of. 
Karl  and  Sophie,  however,  in  their  part  of  host 
and  hostess,  were  compelled  to  remain  and  see  the 
reception  through. 

Trenham  most  obviously  avoided  a  tete-a-t£te 
with  his  anxious  wife.  She,  tied  by  fate  to  the 
head  of  the  Dunrobin  "  receiving  line  "  as  a  martyr 
to  her  wheel,  needed  to  bow,  to  smile  and  greet 
each  newcomer  with  a  pleasant  word  while,  from 
the  corner  of  a  shrinking  eye,  she  noted  her  husband 
piloting  every  fresh  group  of  men-guests  to  that 
secluded  spot  where  lurked  the  bar. 

A  little  after  five  o'clock  Sophie  saw  him  pawing 
at  a  negro  waiter,  and  teetering  back  and  forth 
upon  his  heels.  Feeling  it  impossible  to  endure 
the  strain  for  another  instant,  Mrs.  Trenham  broke 
from  the  line  and  overtook  him  before  he  could 
escape. 

"  Karlie  dear — Karl,"  she  whispered,  grasping 
his  arm,  "  you  are  not  well,  and  I  am  at  the  limit. 
Order  the  car,  for  I  must  get  home." 


APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916  303 

"  Order  the  car,  you  say,"  echoed  the  other,  grin- 
ning foolishly.  "  Echstrom  has  skipped,  taking 
our  fine  German  chauffeur  with  him.  Our  oar 
stranded  at  station.  Nobody  drive  it.  Order  our 
car." 

He  was  rapidly  falling  into  that  most  betraying 
sign  of  hiccups.  Sophie  put  one  arm  around  him 
and  led  him  outside. 

It  was  nearly  dark.  She  could  see,  through  the 
purple  grape-bloom  of  the  valley,  small  yellow 
points  of  light  which  betokened  the  city.  Hurry- 
ing up  to  the  nearest  silhouette  of  a  standing  auto- 
mobile, she  spoke  to  its  chauffeur. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Karl  Trenham,  and  my  husband  is 
very  ill.  I  want  you  to  drive  us  home,  as  our  car 
has  failed  to  meet  us.  I'll  make  it  worth  your 
while,"  she  added,  seeing  the  mulatto  hesitate. 
"  Whose  automobile  is  this?  " 

When  the  negro  had  told  the  name,  Sophie  com- 
manded. "  Help  Mr.  Trenham  in, — don't  let  him 
get  back  to  the  club-rooms — while  I  run  and  get 
permission  from  your  employer." 

Throughout  that  dreadful  night  Karl  Trenham 
lay  in  the  dull,  bestial  torpor  of  drunken  oblivion. 

His  heavy  slumber  held  until  high  noon  next  day. 
At  luncheon  he  was  still  in  a  stupor.  While  Sophie, 
her  mother  and  Blessing  were  at  the  table,  a  second 
telegraph  message  arrived. 

"  I  will  keep  this  one,  too,"  Sophie  nodded  toward 
Mrs.  Hallonquist.  "And  hide  them  both  until 


304  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

Karlie  has  had  his  bath,  and  has  eaten  some  solid 
food.  He's  nearly  dead,  my  poor  darling." 

Scarcely  had  she  spoken,  when  Karl's  voice— a 
harsh  burlesquing  of  his  usual  pleasant  one — came 
to  their  ears.  "  Sophie — I  say — oh,  Sophie !  Wasn't 
that  wire  for  me?  " 

She  ran  upstairs  with  the  two  telegrams,  and 
then  strove  to  dissuade  him  from  opening  them. 

"  Wait  till  you've  had  your  refreshing  bath — dear 
Daddy.  Wait  and  have  luncheon  first." 

He  motioned  her  words  aside  as  though  they 
had  been  a  swarm  of  buzzing  insects,  flung  himself 
to  the  end  of  the  chaise  longue,  tearing  at  the  en- 
velopes in  his  hands. 

"  The  scoundrel !  The  damned  skunk !  The  quit- 
ter !  "  he  groaned  out,  and  crumpled  the  evil  tidings 
into  rustling  balls  of  paper. 

When  Sophie,  thoroughly  alarmed  by  his  appear- 
ance, asked  him  a  question,  he  sprang  up  like  a 
creature  prodded  by  a  spear,  and  threw  himself 
about  the  room,  making  such  wild,  unmeaning  ges- 
ticulations, that  his  wife's  one  concern  was  to 
palliate  and  soothe  him. 

"  The  one  thing,  dearest,"  the  tormented  man 
assured  her  later  on,  "  that  might  help  to  keep  me 
from  going  stark,  raving  mad  would  be  to  take  a 
long  drive  with  you — only  the  two  of  us — out  to 
the  edge  of  some  world  where  there  isn't  any 
war." 

"  I'll  go  with  you  there,  and  further,"  Sophie 


APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916  305 

comforted  him.  "  You  are  my  world — my  life — 
my  everything.  But,  Karlie,  we  must  have  some 
common-sense.  The  car  is  still  at  the  station,  and 
neither  of  us  know  how  to  manage  that  new 
machine." 

"  What  if  we  don't !  "  cried  Trenham  recklessly. 
"  At  least  I'm  competent  to  start  and  stop  the 
thing.  Fischer — the  damned  Bosch  spy — unbended 
to  the  point  of  letting  me  know  that  much.  How 
'bout  it,  dearest,  are  you  game?  " 

An  hour  later  the  huge  car  spun  along  delight- 
fully responsive.  Sophie  beside  her  husband, 
beautiful  in  her  costly  furs,  with  his  great  bunch  of 
violets  pinned  above  her  heart,  had  never  been 
more  endearing. 

"  God,  but  I'm  glad  we  came ! "  the  man  ex- 
claimed impulsively,  "  and  the  old  hearse  is  as  easy 
to  run  as  any  flivver."  For  the  first  time  that  day 
he  tried  to  produce  a  smile. 

Sophie's  soft,  glowing  cheek  was  pressed  for  an 
instant  to  his  shoulder.  "  Things  will  come  all 
right  yet,  my  Karlie.  What  can  fate  do  to  us,  so 
long  as  we  have  each  other?  " 

Unconsciously  to  both,  and  yet,  as  later  it  would 
seem  by  a  route  inevitable,  they  were  purring  along 
the  road  to  a  distant  hill,  whereon,  at  the  very  sum- 
mit, there  lay  a  squarish  corn-patch  held  back  from 
the  thoroughfare  by  an  old  zigzag  fence. 

"  How  quiet  and  clean  the  world  seems  up  here," 
sighed  Trenham,  as  they  reached  the  first  corner 


306  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

of  the  opening.  In  speaking  he  began  to  cut  off 
the  feed  of  gasoline  to  the  merest  trickle. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  let's  do,"  he  cried  out  like 
a  boy.  "  Let's  stop  the  car,  get  out,  and  walk  away 
from  the  sight  of  it,  and  try  to  forget  we're  old 
and  married  and " 

"  Successful,"  interjected  Sophie,  to  which  the 
young  man  answered  by  a  groan. 

Catching  one  another's  hands,  they  slowly  made 
their  way  to  that  very  spot,  in  an  angle  of  the 
gaunt,  horizontal  bars,  where  Karl  first  held  his 
schoolgirl  sweetheart  in  his  arms. 

There  was  something  of  solemn  import  in  the 
hushed  hour  apart,  a  touch  as  of  a  sacrament. 
Perhaps,  in  her  swift  coming,  Fate  whispered  to 
them  a  hint  that  this  was  their  last  sweet  com- 
munion on  earth  together. 

Once  seated,  side  by  side,  with  backs  to  the 
old  rail  fence,  Karl  slipped  down  forward  by  a  few 
inches  in  order  that  his  bare,  blond  head  might 
rest  on  the  fur  of  Sophie's  shoulder. 

"  Sophie — my  darling,"  he  smiled  a  challenge  to 
her  bending  face.  "  I  know  that  I  love  you  more 
than  any  woman  has  ever  loved  a  man." 

Sophie's  lips  quivered.  "  I  know  it,  my  precious, 
my  dearest.  I  feel  it  all  the  time,  and  there  are 
moments — this  is  one  of  them — when  it  frightens 
me." 

"  You  mean — you  mean  the  risks  I  run?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  the  risks.    The  awful  nervous  pitch 


APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916  337 

to  which  you  are  keyed  this  very  minute.  Life  isn't 
worth  the  living  at  such  a  price." 

"  No — no  it  isn't"  the  husband  answered.  "  And 
if  I  can  just  get  out  of  this  snare  alive,  I'm  going 
to  cut  off  the  pressure.  You  just  see  if  I  don't. 
Right  now — I'm  caught.  Sophie,  I'm  caught,  like 
a  rabbit  in  a  nigger's  trap.  And  the  sly  coon  that 
set  it  was  that  smooth  German  devil  Echstrom. 
You  don't  guess  yet  what  he's  done  to  us." 

"  No,  Karl,  I  don't.    I'm  waiting  to  hear  it  now." 

Trenham  sat  erect.  The  old  tingle  of  excite- 
ment came  to  his  eager  voice.  "  You  knew,  of 
course,  that  what  we  set  out  to  do  was  to  sell  at 
enormous  prices,  and  to  send  by  whole  shiploads, 
metals  and  munitions  to  the  German  Govern- 
ment?" 

"  I  wasn't  sure  about  the  munitions,"  Sophie  said 
slowly. 

"  Well,  they  were  there  all  right.  We  ran  huge 
risks  naturally,  because  we  had  to  lie  and  fool 
Washington  and  sign  some  queer  declarations. 
But  everything  was  the  richest  velvet.  Our  biggest 
cargo  was  ready  to  sail,  and  if  only  that  damned 
proclamation  of  war  had  been  delayed " 

Sophie  leaned  over  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his 
quivering  mouth. 

"  Sophie,  my  precious  wife,"  Karl  cried  at  the 
end  of  a  long  pause,  and  swinging  round  to  her. 
"  Sophie,  what  could  you  stand  with  me?  How 
much  of  poverty — maybe — disgrace?  " 


308  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

There  was  no  faltering  in  the  brilliant  smile  she 
gave  him.  "  Haven't  I  told  you  within  the  hour 
that  you  are  the  one  man  I  ever  loved,  or  ever 
will  love  through  all  eternity?  " 

"  Suppose,"  he  now  whispered,  looking  furtively 
about,  as  if  for  lurking  listeners,  "  that  it  comes  to 
mean  the — penitentiary?  " 

He  shuddered  at  the  dreadful  syllables,  but 
Sophie's  head  went  up. 

"  What  would  you  do  then,  Sophie?  What  would 
you  do?  "  he  gulped. 

"  This  is  what  I'd  do,"  she  answered  valiantly. 
"  I'd  leave  Mother  and  Blessing  in  the  cottage  here, 
and  I'd  rent  a  shanty  in  sight  of  your  cell  window. 
I  think  I'd  take  in  washing,  and  as  I  scrubbed  and 
dried,  and  hung  things  on  the  line,  we'd  make  up 
a  code  of  signals  and  talk  whenever  the  watchers 
— or  whatever  the  beasts  are  called — had  their 
backs  turned  to  us.  There  I  would  work  and  wait 
until  my  dear  lover  came  to  me  free  again." 

"  By  God !  and  I  know  you  mean  it !  "  choked  the 
man.  "  Sophie,  my  beloved !  My  darling !  " 

"  Then  turn  to  your  wife  once  more,"  she  coaxed 
him,  in  exquisite  allurement.  "  Let  me  see  both 
those  eyes  that  I  love  so  well,  heaped  and  running 
over  with  bright,  blue  laughter — that's  right! 
Now  you  can  kiss  me  once  more — only  once — for 
we  must  start  for  home." 

Laughing  and  wrangling  like  two  happy  children, 
they  reached  the  automobile. 


APRIL  THE  SIXTH,  1916  309 

"  Now,  Karlie,  you  must  be  careful ! "  Sophie 
chided  him  with  a  hint  of  apprehension  in  her 
lovely  voice.  "  Remember  this  car  is  unfamiliar." 

"  Pah !  it's  a  flivver,  a  regular  old  cow,"  Trenham 
defied  her.  "  Watch  me  skini  down  this  curve." 

The  next  thing  Sophie  knew  was  the  crash  and 
dreadful  clatter  of  shattered  glass.  Her  head 
jerked  forward,  struck  at  one  temple  the  steering- 
wheel. 

When  she  recovered  consciousness,  and  had 
dragged  herself  from  the  wreck  of  what  had  once 
been  a  limousine,  she  saw  Karl  lying  face  down  and 
motionless,  clear  out  in  the  road. 

She  staggered  toward  him,  caught  the  body  in 
her  arms,  and  again  went  out  from  all  knowledge 
of  a  living  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

HOW    TRENHAM    PAID    HIS    DEBTS 

OPHIE!  My  little  girl.  Poor  stricken 
lambkin  what  you  are,  poor  Sophie! 
Couldn't  you  make  out  for  to  cry  a  mite, 
here  on  your  Uncle  Chris?  " 

As  the  body  he  held  kept  its  rigid  unresponsive- 
ness,  the  compassionate  voice  went  on. 

"  Tears  holds  a  power  of  healing  when  you  shed 
them  right.  I  know,  for  I've  had  to  shed  them. 
Darling,  just  strive  to  cry." 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  can,"  at  last  she  answered, 
in  a  thin  prim  fashion,  like  a  child  who  recites  an 
uncomprehended  verse  at  school.  "  Something  is 
wrong  with  me — a  something  queer." 

"  What  sort  of  a  queer  thing,  darling?  Can't  you 
tell  Uncle  Chris?  " 

She  stared  up  into  his  face  with  her  first  hint  of 
partial  recognition,  and,  beckoning  him  to  follow, 
tiptoed  across  the  room.  There,  on  a  raised,  black 
square,  shrouded  in  cloth  and  heaped  about  with 
flowers,  in  white  content,  her  dead  young  husband 
lay. 

"  Come  close — still  closer,"  she  whispered,  her 

310 


HOW  TRENHAM  PAID  HIS  DEBTS     311 

vacant,  glittering  eyes  beating  about  as  if  fearing 
an  eavesdropper. 

"  The  matter  is  just  this/'  she  explained,  lifting 
one  finger  and  its  thumb,  and  poising  them  above 
the  helpless  face.  "  If  cnly  I  dared  to  pull  up  one 
frozen  eyelid,  and  then — if  that  blue  eye  laughed 
— I'm  .sure  I  could  cry!"  she  triumphed,  and 
with  the  final  words  began  a  low,  ghoulish 
chuckle. 

At  the  crafty,  peering  look  that  went  with  the 
motions  of  her  uplifted  hand,  the  blood  in  Chris's 
veins  seemed  to  stand  still. 

"  Sophie,  you — you  musn't,  child.  It's  awful !  " 
he  got  out,  and  forced  himself  to  catch  at  her  wrist. 

At  the  firm  touch,  reason  burned  back  through 
her  clouded  brain.  She  stared  at  her  upraised 
fingers,  as  if  in  wonder  at  their  predatory  poise, 
then  down  again  at  her  husband. 

"  Karl  dear,"  she  smiled.    "  My  Karlie." 

Chris  held  his  breath. 

"  Karl  dear,  it  is  Sophie.  It's  your  wife.  Won't 
you  open  your  eyes?  I  can't  stand  this  nightmare 
much  longer.  Kiss  me.  Oh,  make  me  wake  up 
quickly.  Karlie,  my  precious  lover,  I  tell  you  I 
can't  stand  it !  " 

Through  the  grim  silence  of  the  room,  Chris's  low 
prayer  sobbed :  "  Hurry  and  help  her,  God  Al- 
mighty!" 

Sophie  turned  to  him  with  a  sullen,  resentful 
flash  in  her  sunken  eyes.  "  I  didn't  ask  God.  I 


312  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

was  speaking  to  my  husband.  Karl — oh,  Karl — 
Daddy — listen  to  me,  Karl " 

She  leaned  down  and  clutched  at  a  shoulder  that 
felt  marble  to  her  touch,  and,  at  the  awful  truth, 
with  a  scream  that  almost  rent  poor  Chris's  heart 
in  twain,  she  fell  forward,  limp  and  senseless. 

Christopher  caught  her  before  she  reached  the 
dead  body.  "  Thankee — thankee — thankee,"  his 
lips  chattered  as,  with  his  tragic  burden,  he  went 
in  search  of  Mary. 

To  the  intense  relief  of  those  who  had  in  charge 
the  last  arid  offices  that  man  can  give  his  fellow, 
good  Dr.  Stepp  felt  justified  in  giving  the  frenzied 
widow  such  sedatives  that,  through  the  final  scenes, 
Sophie  remained  apart  and  unknowing. 

About  ten  days  after  the  "  Trenham  accident " 
as,  on  the  lips  of  casual  speech,  it  had  already  be- 
come, early  one  Sunday  afternoon,  the  Gaither 
family,  with  the  two  elder  Thigpens  and  their 
children,  filed  from  the  dinner  table,  into  the  sun- 
lit "  drawing-room,"  as  Miss  Laird  insisted  that  it 
should  be  called. 

When  seated,  all  eyes  were  turned  to  James 
Gaither,  who,  instantly  self-conscious,  cleared  a  dry 
throat  and  launched  a  withered  smile. 

Letty,  perched  on  his  chair-arm,  patted  his  thin- 
ning hair. 

"  Make  it  brief,  Daniel  Webster,"  she  teased, 
"  for  I've  a  date  to  keep." 


HOW  TRENBAM  PAID  HIS  DEBTS     313 

"  Not  with  Sophie?  "  Mildred  cried  in  breathless 
interest. 

"  Yes,  Sophie,  thank  God.  She  has  sent  for  me 
at  last." 

"  I  am  so  glad !  I  am  so  very  thankful,"  Mildred 
declared.  "  The  way  that  poor  creature  has  in- 
sisted -upon  locking  her  doors,  refusing  to  see  even 
Miss  Mary — but  then,"  and  the  voice  dropped  to  a 
pitying  cadence,  "  who  could  blame  her?  She  loved 
her  husband.  I  think  she  loved  him  almost  as 
much  as  I  do  mine,  and  to  see  him  killed  before  her 
eyes,  and  to  sit  there  for  hours  holding  that 
mangled  form — 'Lonzo,"  she  faltered,  springing  to 
her  feet,  and  hurrying  until  she  gained  his  clasp. 
"  'Lonzo,  put  little  Ossie  down  and  take  me — for 
I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  cry." 

Various  suppressed  sniffles,  and  furtive  dabs  with 
stealthily  abstracted  handkerchiefs,  attested  to  the 
fact  that  Mildred  was  not  alone  in  her  sympathy. 

Mr.  Gaither  cleared  his  throat  once  more. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Well, 
some  things  are  difficult  to  understand.  God  cer- 
tainly moves  in  a  mysterious  way.  Sophie's  hus- 
band— my  late  junior  partner — got  from  this  life 
in  time,  but  only  just  in  time,  to  save  himself  from 
sad  entanglements — and — I'm  sorry  to  say  it,  from 
a  hideous  disgrace.  The  truth  is,  Trenham  died  in- 
volved in  a  hundred  wild-cat  schemes  and  ven- 
tures." 


314  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  But  didn't  the  man  put  over  a  lot  of  them?  " 
Thigpen  inquired. 

"  He  did  indeed,  and  except  that  he  became  the 
tool  of  that  scoundrel  Echstrom — who,  as  we  all 
know  now,  was  a  spy  and  fully  accredited  agent 
of  the  German  Government — Karl  might  have  con- 
tinued to  be  a  brilliantly  successful  if  adventurous 

financier.  But  as  it  is "  the  speaker  paused, 

with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Echstrom  has  skipped  for  Mexico,  leaving  his 
dupe  to  pay  all  penalties.  The  tower  works  credit 
has,  so  I  find,  been  used  as  the  basis  of  many  nefari- 
ous deals " 

"  But  you  haven't  lost,  Father  dear,  not  you 
personally?  "  the  gentle  Mildred  interrupted.  "  I 
couldn't  bear  it  if  your  name  had  been  dragged  into 
anything  dishonourable." 

"  No,  I  stand  clear,"  James  replied  in  a  voice  that 
thrilled  with  a  hint  of  what  he  was  next  to  say. 
"  But  I  escaped  through  no  wisdom  or  foresight  of 
my  own. 

"  There  is  the  one  who  saved  me — who  saved 
us  all !  "  and  he  pointed  dramatically  at  the  quiver- 
ing Miss  Ossie,  who,  on  the  shining  surface  of  her 
oaken  chair,  seemed  about  to  pass  into  epilepsy. 

"  Now,  Brother  James,"  she  stammered,  grow- 
ing a  streaky  red,  "  you  mustn't.  Be  silent,  James, 
at  once.  I — I — only  did  what  seemed  to  me — my 
duty." 

"  Not  only  me  and  mine,"  Gaither  hurried  for- 


HOW  TRENHAM  PAID  HIS  DEBTS     315 

ward,  while  poor  Ossie's  nervousness  grew  into 
virtual  despair,  "  but  bedridden  old  Mrs.  Battle ; 
dear  Auntie  Baring,  with  her  savings  of  fifty  years' 
labour;  brave  little  Sally  Finger  and  a  score  of 
others,  have  been  not  only  saved  from  ruin,  but 
made  comfortable  for  life  through  the  genius  of 
that  great  woman  there !  Had  I  my  way,' '  crowed 
James,  rising  to  heights  of  oratory,  "  this  town 
would  have  a  statue  raised  to  its  finest  citizen,  and 
on  the  pedestal  what  name  should  appear  but  hers 
— Miss  Ossie  Laird,  whom  I  am  proud  to  call  friend 
and  sister!  " 

"  Oh,  James !  "  the  victim  moaned,  "  oh,  all  you 
dear  kind  you-uns.  I — I  thank  you  every  one — 
stop  that  fool  grinning  in  your  corner,  Bud,  else 
I'll  step  over  there  and  ruin  ye! " 

"  Three  cheers  for  our  Aunt  Ossie ! "  'Lonzo 
called  out,  pride  and  affection  in  the  look  turned 
upon  Miss  Laird's  martyred  visage. 

"  And  what  about  Miss  Mary?  "  Chris  demanded 
eagerly. 

"  I  thought  you  had  heard,  Chris,"  said  Gaither 
sadly.  "  Mary  and  poor  Sophie  are  completely 
bankrupt.  The  very  stones  in  that  just-started 
house  on  the  Hallonquist  Hall  foundations  will 
probably  be  dug  up  by  their  creditors.  Nothing 
can  touch  Mary's  cottage,  thank  the  Lord,  but  as 
for  money,"  he  spread  both  hands  eloquently — 
"  there  is  none." 

"Damn  him,"  boomed  Chris,  "for  the  low-lived 


316  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

thief  he  is,"  and  'Lonzo  echoed  the  growl  with 
smothered  profanity. 

James  drew  himself  erect  with  a  gesture  full  of 
dignity. 

"  Let  him  and  all  his  errors  lie  in  eternal  peace. 
He  who  dies,  pays  all  debts." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET 

"y^XH,  Sophie — Sophie,  my  dearest!"  Letty 
t  f  cried  from  the  threshold  of  her  friend's 
chamber  door.  Gladness  and  tears  were 
gleaming  in  her  voice  like  tangled  silver  wires. 

She  sped  across  the  stagnant,  shadowed  room  to 
the  chaise  Tongue,  on  which  she  had  discerned  the 
outlines  of  an  ink-black,  slender  shape. 

Her  thrilled  and  thrilling  tones  gained  no  re- 
sponse. Letty  needed  to  stare  hard  upon  the  silent 
figure,  in  order  to  counteract  the  strange  impres- 
sion that  the  place  was  empty  but  for  her  living 
self. 

Sophie  lay  on  her  back.  The  pillows,  crowded 
downward  underneath  her  shoulders,  threw  the 
white  throat  into  a  swan-like  arch,  while  her  head, 
with  its  unkempt  hair,  hung  a  trifle  backwards. 

Over  her  upraised  face  she  had  laid  a  bent,  bared 
arm  which,  thus  emerging  from  the  black  wrapper, 
looked  pathetically  fragile. 

"  My  poor  dear — my  darling !  "  Letitia  exclaimed 
anew,  and,  flinging  her  hat  aside  to  the  dim-lit  floor, 
gathered  her  friend  to  a  loving,  aching  heart. 

"  If  only  I  could  help  you — oh,  my  dear !  "    A' 

317 


318  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

short  pause  followed,  then  Letty  said  hastily,  and 
very  much  aloud,  "  I  can  too  and — will! " 

Sophie  took  down  the  shielding  arm  and  put 
her  hand  on  the  visitor's  shoulder.  Her  wan  face 
showed  a  hint  of  amazement  at  her  friend's  in- 
tensity. 

"  I  rather  thought  you'd  be  a  little  sorry.  You 
never  spoke  ill  of  Karl.  What  are  they  saying  of 
him,  Letty?  "  she  suddenly  demanded,  sitting  bolt 
upright. 

The  answering  grey  eyes  were  calm.  "  They  said 
— the  whole  town  is  saying — that  with  his  loss, 
there  went  the  most  brilliant  young  business  man 
Dunrobin  had  ever  known." 

"  I  supposed  that,"  Sophie  twitched.  "  But  about 
— Echstrom — about  those  Government  schemes?  " 

"  They  say,  of  course,  that  falling  in  with  that 
German  swindler  and  spy  was  a  bad  thing  for 
Karl." 

"  Don't  they  blame  him,  though?  Don't  they 
cry  traitor  of  my  dear  love?  Don't  old  Miss  Ossie 
chuckle  triumphantly?  " 

"  Sophie,  be  calm,  my  darling.  Lie  there  quite 
still,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  Father  has  just  said 
of  him.  We'd  all  been  talking  about  the  business, 
— for  through  Aunt  Ossie's  foresight  the  shot  tower 
credit  has  been  saved — when  Daddy  said  to  us 
solemnly " 

"  Well — well,  don't  dawdle.  Can't  you  see  I'm 
waiting?  " 


THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET         319 

"  He  who  dies,  pays  all  debts,"  and  Letty's  voice 
was  like  the  springtime. 

"  Ah,"  Sophie  murmured,  and  fell  back  to  the 
couch,  screening  her  face  anew. 

Letitia  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Wait  just  a  mo- 
ment," she  whispered  between  the  sobs.  "  I  want 
to  run  downstairs  for  a  minute;  please  don't  let 
anybody  take  my  place." 

After  twenty  minutes  the  visitor  returned,  car- 
rying a  charming  tray  with  a  service  for  two,  some 
sandwiches,  and,  at  one  end  of  the  embroidered 
cloth,  a  bunch  of  mingled  violets  and  lilies-of-the- 
valley. 

After  tea,  the  widow  set  grave  dark  eyes  upon 
her  visitor,  and  demanded  abruptly,  "  When  are 
you  going  to  start?  You  know — over  there?  " 

"In  less  than  two  weeks  now.  Why  do  you  ask 
in  that  dramatic  manner?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Sophie  clearly — "  because  I  am 
going  too." 

A  white  light  flashed  across  Letitia  Gaither's 
face. 

"  Nurses  must  have  some  training,  dear,"  she 
deprecated.  "  And  it  takes  months  to  get  it,  even 
in  the  hurried  curriculum  of  these  dreadful 
days." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  nurse,"  the  other  cried.  "  I'm 
ready  to  be  a  slave,  a  charwoman.  I  must  get  away. 
I'm  willing  to  do  anything! " 

"  Even  to  scrubbing  floors?  "  Letty's  grey  eyes, 


320  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

for  all  their  lambent  tenderness,  were  growing 
rather  keen. 

"  What  better  scrub-brush  could  one  have  than 
a  broken  heart?  Why,  I  could  scrape  up  grease 
spots  with  it.  Can't  you  help  me  to  get 
across?  " 

"Well,  as  it  happens,"  Letty  replied  demurely, 
"  within  this  past  week  I  have  started  up  a  pretty 
hot  line  of  argument  directed  to  our  headquarters 
in  New  York  City,  saying  that  I  must — simply  must 
— have  a  good  reliable  assistant  when  I  sail." 

"  Letty,  you  thought  of  me,  you  blessed  angel, 
even  before  I  spoke !  " 

"  Never  mind  kissing  me,  or  throttling  the  life 
out  with  those  white  arms.  What  you  must  do 
at  once — remember  I'm  boss — is  to  fling  on  a  coat, 
and  come  with  me  out  to  the  fresh  air ;  I  can't  take 
a  sick  assistant  to  France.  Let's  go  to  the  woods, 
where  we  can  talk  the  whole  thing  over  without 
danger  of  meeting  a  single  soul." 

Again  Sophie  demurred,  and  again  Letitia  was 
triumphant. 

Before  poor  Sophie  knew  it,  she  was  keeping 
step,  and  in  the  way  of  childhood's  strolling,  her 
arms  about  her  comrade's  waist. 

Talk  and  discussion  had  scarcely  paused  for  the 
space  of  a  single  breath,  and  Sophie  was  reiterating 
in  a  discouraged  voice,  "  If  only  there  was  some- 
body to  live  in  the  cottage  with  Mother  and  Bless- 
ing ! "  when,  at  a  sudden  deflection  of  the  winding 


THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET        321 

road  they  saw,  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  the  large 
stooped  figure  of  a  solitary  man. 

His  head  was  canted  forward,  and  his  hands, 
clasped  behind  him,  made  a  huge,  pink  knob  in  the 
middle  of  his  back. 

His  slow  progress,  and  the  contemplative  pose, 
alike  betokened  meditation. 

Letty  covertly  nudged  her  companion,  then,  with 
a  mischievous  gleam  in  her  pleasant  eyes,  re- 
marked, in  the  same  hushed  manner,  "  But  of 
course,  Sophie,  he — Uncle  Chris  and  no  other — 
is  the  answer  to  your  problem  as  to  who  should  live 
in  the  cottage." 

The  solemn,  manly  pace  kept  to  the  middle  of  the 
thoroughfare,  displaying  even  at  a  distance,  and 
viewed  from  the  unkind  vantage  of  the  rear,  a 
dogged  pertinacity. 

Then,  all  at  once,  amid  the  old  year's  grasses  at 
the  roadside,  their  brown  pathos  standing  knee- 
deep  in  the  fresh,  green  tide  of  spring,  a  something 
flew,  or  twinkled. 

As  quickly,  the  safe  mid-course  was  abandoned, 
and,  down  on  his  knees,  on  the  red  and  spongy 
loam,  went  the  big  naturalist. 

The  two  girls  hurried  up  to  view  the  capture  as, 
many  years  ago,  they  had  often  done.  The  little 
adventure  deepened  the  impression  of  a  return  to 
childhood,  and  swept  away  some  of  the  shadows 
of  the  recent  tragedy. 

It  did  not  seem  humanly  possible  that  Chris 


322  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

could  have  heard  them  coming,  their  footsteps  were 
so  light  and  the  damp  earth  so  muffling,  yet,  at 
ten  yards  away,  a  frantic  hand  held  furtively  aside 
from  view  of  the  object  hunted,  made  gestures 
commanding  them  not  to  advance  another  inch. 

From  various  baggy  pockets,  the  man  drew  out, 
first  a  crumpled  paper  bag,  next  a  tissue  insect- 
net,  and  third,  a  collapsible  microscope.  His  whole 
body  was  poised  and  quivering.  A  sudden  lunge, 
a  handful  of  mingled  earth  and  broken  grasses,  and 
then,  the  triumphant  cry,  "  I  got  him — by  jumpin* 
Jupiter,  I  lit!" 

"  Now,  can  we  come? "  shrilled  Letty,  like  a 
child. 

"  You  can,"  cried  her  uncle  in  joyous  gaiety. 
"  I've  just  run  down  a  specimen  of  the  rarest  of 
all  bugs — the  Theridon  lu — Shucks !  "  he  laughed 
out,  "  the  smaller  the  critter,  the  bigger  the  name." 

"  Well,  it's  a  big  piece  of  luck  to  meet  you  here, 
Uncle  Chris,"  Letty  observed,  after  the  excitement 
caused  by  the  capture  had  begun  to  ebb.  "  Sophie 
and  I  came  out  to  discuss  a  plan  of  great  im- 
portance to  her  future." 

Her  quiet  words  recalled  Chris  to  himself — or 
rather,  to  the  young  widow's  presence. 

He  smiled  down  with  the  sweetness  of  a  mother. 
"  It's  good  to  see  you  out  in  God's  air,  my  dear. 
Now  what  have  you  two  been  planning  for  my  little 
Sophie's  future?  " 

"  She  wants  to  go  abroad — to  France — to  do  a 


THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET        323 

lot  of  hard  work  as  my  assistant.  You  remember, 
Uncle,  that  I  am  going?  "  Letty  said,  with  a  little 
moue. 

"  Now  you  is  being  sassy,"  Chris  averred.  "  Yes, 
I'd  remembered  that,  if  I'd  found  a  whole  race  of 
Theridons  climbing  a  single  tree,  instead  of  catch- 
ing a  .solitary  bachelor  here  in  my  net." 

The  two  young  women  exchanged  amused 
glances. 

"  There's  just  one  difficulty  left  in  the  way  of 
Sophie's  going — that  of  her  mother  and  dear  little 
Blessing — living  there  by  themselves  with  only 
those  cranky  servants.  We  must  make  arrange- 
ments for  them.  Can  you  suggest  a  settlement?  " 

Chris's  lips  fell  apart,  his  round  eyes  grew  still 
rounder.  "  Blessing — Miss  Mary,"  he  got  out.  A 
convulsive  twitching  of  his  entire  broad  counte- 
nance heralded  a  flood  of  eager  speech. 

"  It's  the  finest  idea  ever,  Sophie,  and  I'm 
prouder  of  my  niece  Letty  than  any  speech  can  say. 
But,  all  the  same — you  girls  are  young  and  mighty 
handsome.  No — it  won't  never  do  to  have  you 
a-gallivanting  all  over  France — and  it  stuck  full 
of  soldiers — without  Uncle  Chris  to  look  after  you. 
Nobody  shan't  call  me  a  shirk.  So  fix  it  up,  girls. 
Fix  it  up.  I'll  send  my  bugs  and  beetles — even  my 
pans  of  larvae  what's  hatching  in  their  mud — to 
the  Smithsonian  in  Washington.  They'll  be  power- 
ful glad  to  keep  the  treasures  of  a  man  what's 
giving  life  itself  to  his  country." 


324  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  think  you're  talking 
about? "  Letty's  voice,  clear,  unflinching,  and  as 
cold  as  a  bucket  full  of  water,  came  in  his  face. 
"  And  what  could  a  person  like  you  do  over  there?  " 
she  added. 

"  I'm  plumb  dead  certain  sure  I  could  do  some- 
thing," came  forth  in  a  dying  wail. 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  splendid  something  you  can 
do,"  Letty  announced  relentlessly.  "  If  you  are 
not  too  selfish." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Letty,"  Sophie  threw  in  com- 
passionately, "  Uncle  Kiss  couldn't  be  selfish  if 
he  tried." 

"Oh,  couldn't  he?    Look  at  him!" 

This  speech,  or  rather  the  perspicacity  that 
barbed  it,  struck  poor  Achilles  in  his  vulnerable 
point. 

Deep  down  in  his  inner  soul,  he  recognized  the 
death  rattle  of  his  cherished  bachelorhood. 

Suddenly  Chris  wheeled  about  in  a  passion. 

"  And  did  you  think — you  two  sassy  young 
varmints — that  ever  for  a  minute  I  had  any  other 
idea  than  caring  for  Miss  Mary?  My  Godamidey! 
just  for  to  dream  you'd  think  I  wasn't  nearly  dead 
to  have  her  take  me!  Let's  turn  around,  all  three 
of  us.  Let's  go  right  straight  to  Miss  Mary,  and 
have  it  all  clinched  and  done. 

"  N-n-no,"  he  replied,  to  Letty's  natural  ques- 
tion, as  to  whether  it  would  not  be  more  appro- 


THE  BACHELOR  IN  THE  NET        325 

priate  for  an  eager  lover  to  make  such  a  quest 
alone. 

"  I — I — always  is  a  wee  bit  scared  before  Miss 
Mary.  She  can  see  so  deep  down  into  your  vitals, 
don't  you  know.  I  believe  that  I'd  rather — a  little 
rather — have  you  girls'  backing,  so  to  speak." 

All  the  way  to  the  cottage  the  big1  man  was  as 
silent  as  a  walking  tree,  only  at  times,  when  he 
thought  the  girls  were  not  looking,  he  would  lift 
the  net  in  which  a  solitary  insect  stared  up  at 
him  with  dumb,  protuberant  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE   ACORN    IN    ITS    CUP 

THE  result,  as  might  have  been  foreseen,  of 
this  amatory  expedition  was  that  the  two 
girls  did  most  of  the  courting  for  the  tongue- 
tied  Chris. 

At  length  a  sort  of  partial  consent  was  wrung 
from  Mary,  though  not  until  after  a  full  hour  of 
pleading,  during  which  the  alleged  extremes  of 
temperature  supposedly  endured  by  a  Damascus 
blade  in  process  of  being  tempered  were,  when  com- 
pared to  the  agonies,  the  fluctuant  hopes  and 
fears  of  the  shivering  lover,  as  so  many  spring- 
time zephyrs,  blowing,  now  warm,  now  cool. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  reckon  so.  At  least  I  will  promise 
to  think  over  it !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hallonquist  in  virtual 
desperation  after  an  hour  of  argument.  "  I  will 
agree  to  anything  if  only  all  of  you  will  go! " 

Next  day  Chris  appeared  at  the  Hallonquist  cot- 
tage as  usual,  and  at  the  usual  hour,  which  was 
about  a  quarter  after  five. 

Mary  ran  out  to  her  front  porch  as  she  heard 
him  coming.  The  visitor  achieved  a  gallant  and 
fairly  responsive  smile,  but  in  his  soul  he  felt 
the  welcome  as  something  premature. 

"  Good-evening,    dear   old   Chris,"    she   greeted 

326 


THE  ACORN  IN  ITS  CUP  327 

him,  without  even  offering  her  hand.  "  Come  right 
on  into  my  little  dining-room.  I  lighted  the  fire 
as  I  saw  you  start  up  the  walk." 

She  hurried  in,  and  at  the  doorsill  threw  him 
a  glance  that  hinted  of  girlish  fun.  "  All  of  last 
night,"  she  began  to  speak  with  a  certain  breath- 
lessness,  and  with  such  deep  intensity  that  she 
forgot  to  ask  him  to  take  a  seat,  "  I've  thought  and 
thought  what  silly  old  geese  we  were,  Chris,  letting 
those  girls  embarrass  us  yesterday.  I  grow  indig- 
nant when  I  think  of  their  trying  to  force  us  into 
this  marriage,  and  I, — for  one — rebel.  I  do  not 
intend  submitting."  The  fair  head  tossed  in  speak- 
ing, like  a  modest  flower  assailed  by  a  sudden 
wind. 

Chris  stared.  "  You — you  ain't  not — in  a  man- 
ner— not  by  any  chance  backing  out  on  the  trail?  " 
he  stammered. 

"  Yes,  in  a  manner,  that's  what  I've  already 
done." 

Chris  stared  the  harder.  His  face,  of  comely 
red,  slowly  became  the  tint  of  an  unripe  melon. 
"  May  I  sit  down,  Miss  Mary?  "  he  begged. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  the  other  cried,  in  hospitable 
compunction.  "  How  thoughtless — how  very  rude 
I've  been !  You  sit  there  and  I  will  draw  my  little 
rocker  up  near  to  the  fire." 

Chris  crossed  the  room  to  the  old  leather  chair 
and  after  a  few  adjusting  squeaks  and  boundings 
of  the  well- worn  springs  in  it,  the  occupant  huddled, 


328  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

drew   himself   together   like   a   hibernating  bear. 

The  old  familiar  dining-room  had  never  looked 
more  attractive — more  like  its  real  self.  In  the 
west  window  where  the  lingering  day — an  over- 
clouded one — held  a  dull  gleam,  like  pewter,  stood 
a  flat  dish  of  daffodils.  The  fire  in  the  grate  was 
as  golden,  but  its  flame-petals  far  more  free. 

Impelled  by  his  companion's  protracted,  stir- 
less  quiet,  Chris  slowly  turned  about.  He  found 
that  the  gentle  eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  and  their 
light  shone  through  a  wavering  glaze  of  tears.  On 
meeting  her  old  friend's  look,  Mary  gave  out  a 
cry  and  a  little  gesture  which  spoke  denial  of  her 
tender  mood.  "  I  was  just  thinking  to  myself,"  she 
said,  "  that  the  big  brown  leather  chair  seemed 
strangely  a  part  of  you.  Even  when  it  is  empty — 
when  I  sit  here  by  myself — I  play  that  you  are 
in  it.  The  brown  sheath  fits,  Chris, — and  you  fit 
it,  as  an  acorn  fits  its  cup." 

Chris  did  not  know  just  why,  but  at  this  speech 
his  eyes  felt  a  sudden  blurring.  He  loved  to  have 
Miss  Mary  call  him  an  acorn,  but  found  no  words 
in  which  to  tell  her  so. 

After  a  second  silence  he  ventured  a  sheepish 
glance.  This  time  the  fair  head,  with  its  silvering 
temples,  was  meekly  drooped,  and  as  he  looked 
the  great  wet  crystal  of  a  falling  tear  flashed  in  the 
firelight. 

"  Lord,  now  she  air  going  to  cry  on  me ! "  the 
poor  man  groaned  within. 


THE  ACOKN  IN  ITS  CUP  329 

"  Don't  cry, — now  p-1-e-a-s-e  don't  you  cry  now, 
Miss  Mary,"  he  nervously  began.  "  There  ain't 
nothing  at  all  to  cry  for  whatsome-ever,  now,  Miss 
Mary,  for  I've  promised  the  girls  as  how  I  would 
take  care  of  you  and  Blessing.  You  air  never  to 
be  lonesome  any  more, — not  whilst  I  lives  and  has 
my  being — I've  given  my  word  to  it !  " 

"  Stop ! "  cried  the  other,  springing  to  her  feet. 
"  I  do  not  want  your  word.  Now  keep  right  still 
and  listen  to  what  I  tell  you,  for  I  think  you  are 
going  to  get  a  very  big  surprise."  During  the  next 
few  moments,  while  the  impassioned,  unfamiliar 
voice  rang  out,  the  cowering  and  utterly  dumb- 
foundered  Chris  was  to  experience  what  seemed 
to  him  the  crumbling  of  his  walls  of  Jericho. 

"  I  have  told  you  already  how  I  have  tossed 
awake  all  night,  thinking  and  praying,  with  a  heart 
on  fire.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  meekly  ac- 
cept the  arrangements  you  and  the  others  made 
for  me.  But  somehow — last  night — the  meekness 
all  went  from  me,  and  to  my  great  astonishment  I 
find  that  there  is  a  wToman  left  beneath.  It  is  this 
woman  now  that  says  to  you,  I  scorn  your  pity  and 
protection,  nor  will  I  condescend  to  be  merely  cared 
for  by  you  or  any  man  alive." 

Here  was  Chris's  freedom — sudden,  absolute. 
"  But  listen,  Miss  Mary,  let  me  speak,"  he  now  pro- 
tested in  a  shaking  voice. 

"  Yes,  you  shall  speak,  dear  friend,"  said  Mary, 


330  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD. 

very  tall  and  white  as  she  loomed  above  him,  "  but 
you  can  make  no  difference  in  the  stand  I  take." 

She  turned  as  if  to  leave  him,  at  which,  with  a 
single  bound,  he  gained  his  feet. 

"  You've  taken  the  whole  thing  wrong,"  he 
panted.  "  It  ain't  that  I'm  pitying  and  protecting 
you, — I'm  willing  now  to  be  wed." 

"  That  then  must  be  the  parting  of  our  ways," 
Mary  said  simply,  "  for  I  am  not  willing." 

"  But  wait  there — now  listen,  Miss  Mary,"  he 
cried  with  a  clutch  on  a  slender  ebon  sleeve.  "  My 
poor  head's  going  around,  like  a  hive  when  the 
wood-smoke's  starting.  Give  me  a  minute  for  to 
hook  myself  back  to  place.  You  cain't  go  off  and 
leave  me  in  this  franzy.  Think  of  our  years  of 
love." 

"  Yes,  I  am  thinking  of  all  those  years  of  friend- 
ship," that  strange,  most  reasonable  of  women  said, 
with  a  quiet  smile ;  "  and  because  of  the  precious 
years,  I  am  still  going  to  ask  you  to  serve  me." 

"  What's  it?  "  he  breathed,  a  great  relief  making 
his  tense  face  gentler.  "  Anything  in  this  world 
that  you  can  ask." 

"  Then,  Chris,"  she  told  him,  meanwhile  gently 
removing  the  big  shaking  hand  that  clutched  her 
arm,  "  I  am  going  to  beg  you  to  stop — for  at  least 
six  months — coming  here  at  all." 

"  Stop  coming — here! "  he  echoed,  not  quite  be- 
lieving. "  Stop  seeing  you  and  Blessing  every 
day?  » 


THE  ACORN  IN  ITS  CUP  331 

"  Yes,  Chris.  Just  that — for  otherwise,  I  don't 
think  I  can  bear  it.  '  To  care  for  me ' !  "  she  mur- 
mured, with  the  first  break  in  her  voice.  "  It 
sounds  like  a  public  institution." 

"  But  listen,  Miss  Mary.  You  must  have  com- 
mon-sense. How  will  you  get  along  without  a — 
a — helper?  Brother  James  says  that  Trenham  is 
made  you  poor." 

"  How  I  shall  manage  to  get  along  need  not  con- 
cern or  trouble  you,  dear  Chris.  Some  way  will 
open  for  us.  Go  now,  my  friend.  Go  quickly,  for 
I  am  drained  of  strength." 

She  sank  down  into  the  small  rocker,  while  Chris, 
with  a  great  sob,  flung  himself  to  his  knees. 

"  Sit  ye  down  there,  Miss  Mary.  Sit  ye,  dear. 
You  don't  really  mean  as  you  would  drive  poor 
Chris  away  from  this  little  fireside  forever.  Say 
you  were  joking  about  my  being  driven  off ! " 

He  stared  imploringly  up  to  her  small,  white 
face.  Her  head  was  thrown  back,  the  frail  lids 
closed  on  a  shining  rim  of  tears  and  the  patient 
mouth  compressed  heroically. 

"  Oh,  God,"  said  Chris,  as  if  in  reverent  awe, 
as  the  full  meaning  of  her  rejection  came  to  him 
— "  never  to  see  you  more  for  months  and  months 
of  grieving.  Never  to  sit  there  in  my  old  armchair, 
with  Blessing  in  my  arms,  and  you  a-smiling  like 
an  angel,  from  this  little  nook.  Never  to  have  a 
gleam  of  the  best  of  all  things, — loving.  Say  it 
ain't  true,  Miss  Mary,  say  it  ain't.  Won't  you  wake 


332  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

up  and  tell  me  that  I  am  asleep  and  dreaming 
dreadful  horse-dreams, — nightmares,  I  mean.  My 
Godamidey,  Mary, — I  just  can't  stand  it — nohow." 

Mary's  drenched  violets  that  stood  her  now  for 
eyes  opened  upon  him.  "  Oh,  Chris,  my  Chris," 
she  faltered,  shrinking  still  farther  off,  "  don't  make 
this  last  mistake,  dear.  Don't  think  a  broken 
habit,  or  a  great  wave  of  pitying  tenderness  can 
ever  take  the  place  of  that  deeper  and  holier  thing 
—of " 

She  could  not  speak  the  culminating  word,  but 
he  felt  her  shiver  like  a  twanged  and  muted  harp. 

"  Love,"  he  said  for  her.  "  That  is  the  word  I 
need.  What  am  I  made  of,  darling,  but  the  long, 
patient  years  of  loving  you?  What  do  I  care  for 
insects,  or  writing,  or  fame,  or  anything  else  be- 
side, if  you  air  taken  from  me?  I  see  it  now  for 
the  first  time  sunrise-clear.  There  ain't  been  an- 
other woman, — not  even  another  thought,  though 
once — you  know,"  he  nodded  shyly — "  Lizzy 
Lycosa." 

"  Chris — Chris,"  she  sobbed  in  an  abandonment 
of  joy.  "  Yes,  it  is  true, — you  need  me — oh,  Chris 
— and  I  need  you." 

He  bent  the  rough  head  before  her.  From  out 
the  past  there  came  the  vision  of  a  young  lad's 
agony  out  on  a  not-far-distant  hill.  He  caught 
her  two  hands  in  his  and  looked  straight  into  her 
eyes.  "  I  can't  do  withouten  ye,  Mary.  I  can't  do 
withouten  ye,  nohow." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

A    WEDDING    JOURNEY 

ATER  the  expected  cable  from  France  an- 
nounced the  safe  arrival  of  Sophie  and  Letty 
"  over  there,"  Mrs.  Hallonquist  consented  to 
name  her  wedding  day. 

In  the  same  old  Rectory  wing,  with  the  spring 
breeze  blowing  the  freshly  starched  curtains 
straight  out  into  the  flower-scented  room,  Mary,  as 
slender  as  she  was  those  many  years  before,  dressed 
in  white  muslin,  and  bearing  what  might  seem  the 
identical  wild-flower  "  bokay,"  stood  on  the  same 
worn  spot  of  the  same  worn  carpet,  surrounded 
by  a  gathering  of  relatives  and  friends,  and  was 
pronounced  the  wife  of  Christopher  Laird. 

Uncle  Grief,  never  doubting  that  he  was  the 
best -man,  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  less 
complacent  and  more  critical  Mrs.  Grief,  and  kept 
his  snowy  gloves  well  to  the  fore,  being  inordi- 
nately proud  of  them! 

Blessing,  a  vision  of  diaphanous  white  skirts,  of 
ruffles  and  pastel  colouring,  her  golden  curls  topped 
by  the  hugest  and  most  alluring  of  white  bows, 
turned  swelling  tears  to  laughter  by  the  quaint 
remark,  "  Isn't  my  Grandma  just  too  beautiful ! 

333 


334  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

I'm  goin'  to  wait  until  I  am  a  grandma — ever  to 
get  married." 

At  length  it  was  all  over.  There  was  to  be  no 
distant  wedding  trip.  The  married  pair  had  de- 
cided to  drive  quietly  back  to  their  cottage  home. 
For  a  few  days  Blessing  was  to  stop  with  the  Thig- 
pen  children,  under  "  Aunt  Milly's "  tender  and 
efficient  care. 

For  the  short  drive  Chris  had  scorned  'Lonzo's 
suggestion  of  an  automobile,  and,  in  its  place,  in- 
sisted upon  using  the  aged  Uncle  Daddy  and  his 
station  hack. 

The  bridal  pair  got  in,  not  without  certain  hand- 
fuls  of  thrown  rice,  and  one  enormous  bow,  tied 
by  the  junior  Ossie,  to  the  back  of  the  battered 
vehicle,  and  having  started,  joggled  along  on  the 
old  dirt  street  in  what  would  have  been  silence,  but 
for  the  laboured  groans  and  squeaks  of  ancient 
rusty  springs. 

Chris  was  abstracted,  labouring,  as  it  seemed, 
with  some  inward  problem  which  could  not  be 
shared.  His  wife,  smiling  happily,  was  content  to 
wait,  until  the  overburdened  heart  could  ease  itself. 
As  yet  these  two, — predestined,  and  strongly  suited, 
had  scarcely  dared  the  touch  of  lovers'  hands. 

The  old  hack  jogged  along,  sagging  preposter- 
ously on  the  side  where  the  bridegroom  fidgeted. 

Nearing  the  Gaither  home  his  agitation — rather 
than  call  it  turbulence — increased  so  noticeably, 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  335 

that  Mary  leaned  closer,  murmuring,  "  What  is  the 
matter,  dear?  " 

Chris  turned  a  hunted  face.  "  I  knew  you'd  help 
me  out, — bless  you,  Miss  Mary.  I  knew  you'd 
help  me  out,  being  the  kind  and  thoughtful  lady 
that  you  air.  I'm  sure,  now,  you  won't  get  mad  if 
I  ask  .you  to  let  me  stop  for  a  half  a  minute  here 
at  my  own  front  gate.  There  is  something  I've  just 
remembered  as  I'd  forgotten,  something  that  can't 
be  left  to  bide  on  there,  lonesome  and  by  itself, 
without  running  the  risk  of  being  completely 
ruined." 

The  bride  flushed  imperceptibly.  So  this — some 
larvae,  or  some  hatching  cocoon — had  been  the 
cause  of  all  this  agitation. 

"  Of  course,  Chris,  if  you  wish  it.  And  please 
don't  think  that  you  must  speak  to  me,  or — or — 
ask  about  the  things  you  want  to  do.  You  are  your 
own  free  master, — and  mine  too,"  she  whispered 
tenderly,  but  Chris  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Thankee,  Miss  Mary.  Thankee  a  whole  lot," 
he  cried  out  fervently.  "  I  couldn't  have  slept  a 
wink  the  whole  night  through  had  I  been  forced 
to  leave  that  important  experiment  in  danger  of 
being  chilled." 

"  What  sort  of  experiment  is  it?  Do  you  mind 
telling,  dear?  " 

"  N-n-no,"  answered  Chris,  peering  out  through 
the  darkness  to  see  if  the  Gaither  gate  was  yet  in. 
sight.  "  Not  if  you  care  to  hear  it.  There  are  eggs 


336  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

— eggs  in  warm  mud — that  has  to  stay  near  to  the 
bed  where  you're  sleeping, — not  to  get  cooled  too 
much,  or  the  whole  thing  goes  bad.  Here  we  are 
now, — whoa!  Daddy " 

He  sprang  out  through  the  wheels  before  they 
had  really  stopped,  and  Mary  could  hear  him  chas- 
ing along  the  bricked  front  walk  and  up  the  steep 
kitchen  steps  as  though  a  mad  bull  were  pursuing. 

Mary  sat  on  in  darkness,  pierced  by  the  one  red 
eye  of  a  smelling  old  hack  oil  lamp.  Even  the  tact- 
ful and  usually  loquacious  Uncle  Daddy  found  not 
a  word  to  say.  Mrs.  Christopher  Laird  was  think- 
ing, and  not  without  some  resentment,  what  a  figure 
of  fun  she  would  appear  to  the  casual  passerby — 
a  bride,  just  married,  alone  in  an  ancient  hack  at 
ten  o'clock  at  night. 

The  moments  trailed  like  velvet,  slow  and  soft. 
Surely  he  must  be  coming  back  to  her  very,  very 
soon.  As  time  crawled  on,  Mary  began  to  know 
queer  qualms  and  visions  as  to  the  possibility  of 
this  great  child-man  she  loved,  following  the  time- 
worn  furrows  of  long  habit,  actually  going  to  rest 
as  usual, — now  that  his  old  familiar  room  was  at- 
tained,— entirely  forgetting  her,  or  the  fact  that 
she  was  married.  Chris  was  quite  capable  of  such 
a  fantastic  lapse. 

With  an  inward  catch  of  the  breath,  and  hands 
pressing  to  a  fluttering,  thankful  heart,  she  now 
heard  him  lumbering  toward  her.  She  could  barely 
make  out  his  dim  form  through  the  night.  He 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  337 

seemed  to  be  carrying  something;  and  staggered 
from  side  to  side,  as  under  a  careful  weight.  When 
at  the  side  of  the  carriage,  she  leaned  over  and 
saw  that  the  object  was  the  largest,  rustiest  dish- 
pan  ever  known. 

"  Oh,  Chris !  Your  wed-dmg  gloves !  "  she  cried 
impulsively,  and  then  bit  her  lips  in  annoyance 
that  she  had  been  betrayed  into  the  motherly  ad- 
monition. 

Chris  looked  up  to  her  face  with  a  disarming 
smile.  "  I  declare  to  Goodness — but  I  plumb  for- 
got I  was  wearing  wedding  gloves.  I'm  sorry.  I'll 
buy  you  a  new  pair  for  me  the  first  thing  to-morrow 
morning.  Here  is  the  mud  I  spoke  of.  The  eggs 
are  hid  within."  He  beamed  down  on  the  surface 
of  the  semiputrid  mud  adoringly. 

For  about  ten  seconds  the  new-made  wife  had 
a  sharp  decisive  struggle,  from  which  she  soon 
emerged  with  the  smile  of  love  and  understanding 
which  was  a  banner  raised  to  the  ramparts  of 
certain  lifelong  happiness  for  both. 

"Put  them  in  here,  my  darling,"  she  said  ten- 
derly, moving  her  feet  aside  to  make  room  for  the 
horror.  "  I'm  going  to  help  you  hatch  them  with- 
out fail.  Are  they  so  very  rare?  " 

"  The  rarest  there  is,"  said  Chris.  "  They  come 
from  Southern  Europe.  A  big  man  there,  Profes- 
sor Frenchy  something,  sent  them  to  me  to  see  if 
we  could  start  the  species  here.  They'll  fight  some 


338  CHRISTOPHER  LAIRD 

insect  pests  already  thriving,  what  the  farmers 
could  do  without." 

"  Oh,  Chris,  that's  simply  won-der-f  ul !  "  a  voice 
of  silver  cried.  "  I'll  be  so  proud  to  help  you  bring 
them  out.  It  will  be  my  triumph  too,  won't  it, 
dearest?  " 

Chris  turned  to  her  slowly.  "  Ye-s-s !  "  he  slowly 
said. 

Her  sweet  face  was  toward  him,  lifted  a  little 
like  an  eager  child's.  The  wonder  is  that  the  love 
upon  it  did  not  gleam  out  in  a  sort  of  spiritual 
phosphorescence. 

.  The  dark  cloak  had  fallen  backward  from  a 
throat  like  milk,  showing  her  wedding  whiteness. 
The  scent  of  roses  and  fragile,  mangled  ferns  rose 
from  her  crushed  bouquet. 

Chris  gave  a  sort  of  sob  as  he  caught  the  slight 
form  to  him.  "  Shucks — Lord !  "  she  heard  his 
dear  lips  say,  "what  do  I  care  for  bug-eggs  or 
professors, — or  whether  the  farmers  grow  a  single 
row  of  corn, — when  I  got  you,  at  last, — for  my 
wedded  wife, — when  I  is  got  Miss  Mary  for  my 
own." 

And — though  it  sounds  incredible — for  a  long, 
long  quivering  moment  after  this  the  patent 
leathern  pump  on  Chris's  right  foot  went  deep  into 
the  dishpan  and  its  hatchery. 

THE  END 


,        • '  _ 


1919 


A    000  059  002    6 


CHRISTOPHER 
LAIRD 

By  SIDNEY  McCALL 

Author  of  "Truth   Dexter" 

' '  The  Breath  of  the  Gods, ' ' 

"Ariadne  oj  Allan  Water", 

etc. 

Christopher  is  a  child  of 
nature.  In  his  early  life  he 
roams  through  his  loved 
Carolina  mountains,  absorb- 
ing the  life  of  the  beasts  and 
insects.  Later  he  and  his 
family  move  to  a  neighbor- 
ing city  and  there  he  learns  to 
love—  but  that  is  the  story. 
Christopher  is  a  unique 
character  -  -  lovable  to  a 
degree,  lazy  perhaps,  but 
full  of  enthusiasms, — never 
losing  his  boyishness  and 
unspoiled  charm  as  the  years 
pass.  His  adventures  and 
romance  make  a  story  which 
will  leave  the  reader  with  a 
keen  feeling  of  cheer  and 
optimism  and  satisfaction. 


